■ 


■ipiiimi* 


5^y 


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ILLVSTRATED 


BY-  Clin  ton  *  Peters 


i'w-i.n.lllofL 


3/r 


From  the  Library  of 
GERTRUDE  WEIL 

1879-1971 


UNIVERSITY  OF  N.C.  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 

00022228368 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hil 


http://archive.org/details/childrenofweek1800pete 


THE   CHILDREN 
OF  THE  WEEK. 


mdccc  mmm lxxxvi. 


Beind  the  honest  and  only  authent ic 
account  of  certain  stories.as  related  by 
the  Red  Indian ,to  AlexanderSelkirk,  JiV 
herein  truthfully  set  down  by 
V^Hiam  Theodore  Peterx,with 
pictures  thereunto  ty  Clinton. Peters. 


Puhlisked    try 
DODD,  A\E  AD,  Sj  C  OM  PA  NY.         7  f?  B  POADVAY. 
NEW         y^4  YORK  . 


Copyright,    1886, 
3y    DODD,    MEAD,    AND    COMPANY, 


ELECTROTYPED    AND    PRINTED 

BY    RAND,    AVERY,     AND    COMPANY, 

BOSTON 


TO 

BABY   BO,     THE    DIKING, 

This  Book 
IS    DEDICATED. 


One  loves  a  baby  face,  with  violets  there, 

Violets  instead  of  laurel  in  the  hair, 

As  those  were  all  the  little  locks  could  bear." 

"  Protus."     Robert    Browning. 


/.-- 


the  children  of  the  week. 
Introduction    . 


PAGE 
27 


THE    FALL    OF    GREAT    CHUNG    KEE. 
Monday's    Story 


53 


THE    CHRISTMAS    PARTY    IN    THE    BACK-YARD,    AND    WHO 
WERE    INVITED. 

Tuesday's    Story       ....... 


65 


THE    GRAMMAR    COURT. 
Wednesday's  Story 


79 


CONTENTS. 


THE    LAUGHING-GAS    BROWNIES.  page 


Thursday's   Story    . 


IOI 


J.    FROST,    ESQ. 

Friday's   Story         .         .         .         .         .         .         .  ir 

THE    ANGEL    AND    THE    PANSIES. 

Saturday's   Story    ...... 


0/ 


TINY    LINK. 

Sunday's   Story        .         .         „         ,         .         .         .         -153 

Conclusion     .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .161 


•  LI  S 
ILUJSTR 


Y1 


Tor  • 

ATIONS- 


DESIGNED  AND   ARRANGED  BY   CLINTON   PETERS. 


NO.  PAGE 

I.     PORTRAIT    OF    CHUNG     KEE'S     RIVAL Frontispiece. 


ii.  TITLEPAGE 

in.  THE    KNOCKER 

iv.  DEDICATION    PAGE 

v.  HEADING    TO    TABLE    OF    CONTENTS 

vi.  LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 


vii.     TAIL-PIECE    TO    ILLUSTRATIONS 

ii 


7 
9 
ii 

19 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


NO.  PACE 

viii.     HALF-TITLE    TO    "THE    CHILDREN    OF    THE    WEEK"     .         .       25 

IX.     HEADING    TO    "THE    CHILDREN    OF    THE    WEEK".         .         .       27 

x.     INITIAL    LETTER 27 

XI.  "  FOR  A  LONG  TIME  CHARLOTTE  HAD  NOTICED,  IN  ONE 
OF  THE  WINDOWS  OF  THE  FRONT  HOUSE,  A  LITTLE 
LAME  BOY,  ABOUT  SIX  YEARS  OLD,  WHO  HAD  SILVERY 
HAIR,    AND    A    VERY    DIGNIFIED,    WISE    LOOK  "  .         .         .29 

xii.  "THIS  GRATIFIED  ALEXANDER  EXCEEDINGLY.  HE  PLACED 
IT  AT  THE  WINDOW  IN  THE  SUNNIEST  SPOT,  AND 
CALLED    IT    HIS    'GARDEN'"' 30 

xni.     "AND    TOOK    OUT    THE    TWO    COINS" 32 

xiv.  "SOME  BOYS  BLOWING  HORNS  IN  THE  STREET  EXCITED 
HIM  SO,  THAT  HE  GOT  UP  OUT  OF  BED,  AND  DRESSED 
HIMSELF  " 33 

xv.  -HE  GLANCED  WISTFULLY  AT  SOME  CHILDREN  WHO 
WERE  HURRYING  BY  IN  THEIR  SUNDAY-GO-TO-MEET- 
ING   CLOTHES  " 35 

xvi.     "AND    CHOPPED    AROUND    THE    SPOT    WITH    ALL    HIS    PUNY 

MIGHT" 36 

xvii.     "AND    LOOKED    HIM    SQUARELY    IN    THE    FACE"  ...       37 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


NO.  PAGE 

xvm.  '-THERE  WAS  A  MONKEY  CASHIER  ON  THE  OUTSIDE  OF 
THE  BANK,  WHO  WORE  A  SCARLET  COAT,  AND  WHO 
RANG  A  BELL,  WROTE  RAPIDLY  IN  A  LARGE  BOOK, 
AND    STOPPED    WITH    A   JERK   AS    I    WAS    PUSHED    IN"      .       40 

xix.     '-HE    HAD    TAKEN    THE    WHITE    GLOBE    TO    TRY    TO    HAVE 

IT    DYED,    AS    A    SURPRISE    TO    HIS    MOTHER"        ...       41 

xx.     "A    GERMAN    BAND    WAS    PLAYING    TUNES''     ....       42 

xxi.     '•  STOPPED    TO     SHOW    THEM     THAT    SHE    COULD     DANCE 

THE    'ONE.   TWO,   THREE,    AND    A    KICK"'      ....      43 

xxii.  "BY  AND  BY  A  WHITE-HEADED  GENTLEMAN  — I  COULD 
SEE  HIM  QUITE  PLAINLY  THROUGH  A  CRACK  IN  THE 
CURBSTONE  — TOOK  PITY  ON  THE  LITTLE  GIRL,  AND 
GAVE    HER    AN    INDIAN     IN     MY    PLACE"      ....       44 

xxin.     "LEANING      OYER      SIDEWAYS,     SO      AS      NOT     TO      SPILL 

ANY  •' 45 

xxiv.     "'VERY    WELL,   THEN.'    SAID    ALEXANDER.      'BEGIN'".         .       49 

xxv.     HALF-TITLE    TO    MONDAY'S    STORY 51 

xxvi.     HEADING    TO    "THE    FALL   OF    GREAT   CHUNG    KEE  "     .         .       53 

xxvii.     "WHICH    WAS    DECORATED    WITH     THE    SMALL    SALMON- 
COLORED    TICKET  —  SOLD  —  THE    FIRST    DAY    OF    THE 

EXHIBITION" 54 

13 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


NO.  PAGE 

xxvni.  "WHEN  THE  ARTIST  TIED  THE  STRINGS  OF  A  BIG 
WHITE  FRILLED  NIGHT-CAP  UNDER  HER  CHIN,  AND 
POSED  HER  IN  A  FUNNY  BIG  OAK  CHAIR.  THE  LITTLE 
LIVE    MODEL    RATHER    LIKED    IT" 56 

xxix.  "SUDDENLY  THE  LITTLE  LIVE  MODEL  CAUGHT  HIM  IN 
HER  STICKY  FINGERS,  AND  THREW  HIM  ON  THE 
FLOOR" 59 

xxx.     TAIL-PIECE    TO    "THE    FALL    OF    GREAT    CHUNG    KEE  "  .       60 

xxxi.     HALF-TITLE   TO   TUESDAY'S    STORY 63 

xxxii.  HEADING  TO  "THE  CHRISTMAS  PARTY  IN  THE  BACK- 
YARD,   AND    WHO    WERE    INVITED  " 65 

xxxiii.  "ALL  THROUGH  FLOWER-TIME,  EVENING  AND  MORN- 
ING, HER  BROAD  STRAW  HAT  NEATLY  ADJUSTED, 
AND  A  BASKET  AND  SCISSORS  IN  HER  KIND  HANDS, 
I  WATCH  HER  PRUNING  AND  TYING,  WATERING  AND 
DIGGING  " 66 

xxxiv.  "I  SEE  THEM  ON  THE  STREET  OCCASIONALLY,  BOTH 
IN  THIN  MUSLIN.  SAMUEL  BALANCES  HIMSELF  UPON 
THE  CURBSTONE  WITH  GREAT  CREDIT  TO  HIS 
FAMILY" 68 

xxxv.     "MASTER    BEN    ZIXE    HAD    WILFULLY    CHOPPED    OFF    THE 

HEAD    OF    HER    FAVORITE   ZINNIA   WITH    A    STICK"        .       70 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


NO.  PAGE 

xxxvi.     "I    THREW   UP    THE    SASH,    AND    LEANED    OUT    ON    THE 

SLIPPERY    STONE   WINDOW-SILL" 72 

xxxvii.     TAIL-PIECE   TO    "THE    CHRISTMAS   PARTY   IN    THE    BACK- 
YARD,  AND    WHO    WERE    INVITED" 74 

xxxviii.  "WE    ARE    GIVING    THE    BIRDS    A    CHRISTMAS    PARTY"      .  75 

xxxix.  HALF-TITLE   TO    WEDNESDAY'S    STORY 77 

xl.  HEADING    TO    "THE    GRAMMAR    COURT" 79 

xli.  INITIAL    LETTER 79 

xlii.  "THOUGH    HE   WOULD    NOT    CRY  ABOUT  A  THRASHING".  80 

xliii.  "SO    HE    BEGAN    CLIMBING    UP" 83 

xliv.  "AWAY  UP  AT  ONE  END,  UNDER  AN  IMMENSE  RAINBOW, 
SAT  A  HAUGHTY-LOOKING  KING;  AND  THE  GAY  AND 
FESTIVE  PEOPLE  RANGED  THEMSELVES  ON  EITHER 
SIDE   OF    HIM" 85 

xlv.  "IMMEDIATELY  A  SMALL  BOY,  IN  A  MIGHTY  PAIR  OF 
SLIPPERS,  WHO  LOOKED  A  VERY  LITTLE  ARTICLE  IN- 
DEED,   STOOD    TREMBLING    BEFORE   THE    KING"        .         .       87 

xlvi.  "SIR  PREPOSITION  OBEDIENTLY  DREW  BACK  THE  CUR- 
TAIN, AND  LED  FORWARD  A  LADY  ENVELOPED  IN  A 
LONG,    THICK   VEIL"    . 88 

■5 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


MO.  PAGE 

xlvii.     '-THE    KINO,    I    AM    ASHAMED    TO    SAY,   TURNED    AROUND, 

AND     SHOOK     HIS     FIST    AT     THE    TIMID    LITTLE    ARTI- 
CLE " So 

xlviii.     "HERE    SHE    FLUNG    HERSELF    INTO    SOMEBODY'S    ARMS"  .  90 

xlix.     "A   HANDSOME   YOUNG   COURTIER  RUSHED  FORWARD.  AXD 

THREW    HIMSELF    AT   THE    FEET    OF    THE    KING'-       .         .  92 

l.     "YOUR     GRACE     WILL     PARDON     THE     RASHNESS     OF     AN 

AGED    MAN  " 93 

li.     "CONJUNCTION" 95 

1.11.     "  I    AM    GLAD    YOU    DO  " 96 

LIU.     TAIL-PIECE   TO    "THE    GRAMMAR    COURT" 97 

Liv.     HALF-TITLE    TO    THURSDAY'S    STORY 99 

lv.     HEADING   TO    "THE    LAUGHING-GAS    BROWNIES"     .         .         .101 

lvi.     INITIAL    LETTER 101 

i.vii.     "SO    HIS    MOTHER    PUT    ON    HER   WRAPS,   AND    TOOK    HIM 

AROUND    TO    DR.    BROWN'S" 103 

1. vol     "ON    THE   ROUNDEST    PART    OF   THE    LOWER    LIP   STOOD  A 

BROWNIE   ABOUT    AN    EIGHTH   OF    AN    INCH    HIGH".         .  105 

lix.     TAIL-PIECE   TO    "THE    LAUGHING-GAS    BROWNIES"         .         .  109 

16 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


NO.  PAGE 

lx.     HALF-TITLE    TO    FRIDAY'S    STORY m 

lxi.     HEADING    TO    "J.    FROST,    ESQ." 113 

LXir.     INITIAL    LETTER 113 

lxiii.     "THE  TOWN  BECAME   A  PARADISE  OF  CEDAR-TREES  AND 

HOLLY.     THE    SLEIGH-BELLS   JANGLED    .MERRILY"    .         .114 

lxiv.     "BUT    THE    TATTERED    COMFORTABLE    DID    NOT    QUITE 

COVER   THEIR    LITTLE    COLD    NOSES" 115 

lxv.     "SHE    SAW    THE    STRANGEST-LOOKING    OLD    MAN    IMAGI- 
NABLE,   COMING    TOWARDS    HER" 118 

lxvi.     "AT    LENGTH    THEY    CAME    TO    A    LARGE    GATE"    .         .         .121 

lxvii.     "EVER    SO    MANY    CHILDREN,    IN    GROUPS    OF    SEVEN"       .     123 

Lxvin.     "THEY    ALL,    INCLUDING    MR.    J.    FROST,    FELL    TO    ROMP- 
ING   AS    HARD   AS    EVER    THEY    COULD"         .         .        .         .125 

lxix.     "AND    RAN    WITH    ALL    HIS    MIGHT" 127 

lxx.     "THE    LAST   DAY   OF    THE    OLD    YEAR" 12S 

lxxi.     "BY  HER  BABY  BROTHER,  WHO  WAS  EATING   BREAD  AND 
MILK    OUT    OF    A    CHINA    MUG,    WAS    A    LADY    DRESSED 

IN    SILK    AND    FURS  " 130 

17 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


N'O.  PAtJE 

lxxii.     "WITH     A     BASKET      ON      HIS      ARM,     CRAMMED      WITH 

GOODIES" 132 

Lxxin.     TAIL-PIECE    TO    "J.    FROST,    ESQ." 133 

lxxiv.     HALF-TITLE    TO    SATURDAY'S    STORY 135 

lxxv.     HEADING    TO    "THE    AXGEL    AND    THE    PANSIES  "      .         .  137 

lxxvi.     INITIAL    LETTER 137 

lxxvii.     "BABY    PAUL,   WHO    WAS    SO    SWEET    AND    GENTLE    THAT 
THE    ROBINS    WOULD    FLY    DOWN    AND    EAT    OCT    OF 

HIS   PUGGY   HANDS'' 138 

lxxviii.     "HIDING    HER    FACE    IN    THE    COOL    GRASS''        .        .         .140 

lxxix.     "A    SNOW-WHITE    ANGEL    STOOD    BEFORE    LIECHEX  "       .  142 

lxxx.     "SHE    RAN    TOWARDS    HIM,    AND    HELPED    HIM    TO    COME 

INTO    THE    PLEASANT   GARDEN'' 146 

lxxxi.     "AND    CARRIED     IT    HOME" 147 

lxxxii.     TAIL-PIECE    TO    "THE    AXGEL    AND    THE    PANSIES"          .  [49 

lxxxiii.     HALF-TITLE    TO    SUNDAY'S    STORY 151 

lxxxiv.     HEADING    TO    "TINY    LINK" 153 

lxxxv.     "HE    EVEN    PUT    IT    IN    HIS    UPSTAIR    POCKET"     .         .         .  154 

iS 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


NO.  PAGE 

LXXXVI.  '•  SHE  KNEW  IT  WAS  SANTA  CLAUS,  BECAUSE  HE  WAS 
MUFFLING  HIS  HANDS  IN  HIS  SLEEVE,  JUST  LIKE 
THE  IMAGE  OF  HUM  ON  THE  TOP  BRANCH  OF  THE 
CHRISTMAS-TREES" 156 


lxxxvii.     TAIL-PIECE    TO    "TINY    LINK" 


160 


lxxxviii.     TAIL-PIECE   TO    "THE    CHILDREN    OF   THE   WEEK' 


162 


^Xhe*C  hildren-  Of  ^he-V/^1^ 


MONDAY'S    CHILD    IS    FAIR   OF  FACE; 

TUESDAY'S    CHILD    IS    FULL   OF   GRACE  ; 

WEDNESDAY'S   CHILD   IS    MERRIE   AND    GLAD; 

THURSDAY'S    CHILD    IS    SOUR   AND    SAD; 

FRIDAY'S    CHILD    IS    LOVING   AND   GIVING  ; 

AND    SATURDAY'S    CHILD    MUST    WORK   FOR    HIS    LIVING  ; 

BUT    THE   CHILD    THAT    IS    BORN    ON   THE   SABBATH    DAY 

IS    BLITHE,    AND    BONNIE,    AND    GOOD,    AND    GAY." 

OLD    RHYME, 


"  I'll  tell  yon  a  story 
About  Jack  A  Nory, 
And  now  my  story's  begun." 


HARLOTTE  RUSSE  was  a 
shop-girl  who  received  three 
dollars  a  week  for  selling"  bits 
of      ribbon      at      the      remnant 


counter    of    a    large    store    on 


Fourteenth    Street. 
She  wore  a  red  jersey,  and  spent  most  of  her  salary 
on  bandoline  and  chocolate  eclairs. 

In  Williamsburgh,  where   she  passed    her   nights,   the 


THE   CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


people  never  called  her  a  shop-girl,  but  spoke  of  her 
respectfully  as  a  saleslady. 

The  tenement  where  Charlotte  Russe  lived  was  on 
South   First  Street,  not  far  from   Roosevelt   Ferry. 

It  stood  directly  behind  another  house  ;  so  that,  to 
reach  the  street,  Charlotte  had  to  cross  a  short  court- 
yard, and  pass  through  the  hall  of   this  other  house. 

For  a  long  time  Charlotte  had  noticed,  in  one  of  the 
windows  of  the  front  house,  a  little  lame  boy,  about  six 
years  old,  who  had  silvery  hair,  and  a  very  dignified, 
wise    look. 

The  windows  were  near  the  pavement  ;  and  the 
wooden  shutters  attached  were  painted  green,  with  slits 
in   them  like  new  moons. 

Charlotte  Russe,  having  read  about  Robinson  Crusoe, 
and  being  struck  by  the  lonely  appearance  of  the  little 
boy,  called  him   Alexander  Selkirk,  Jr. 

She  used  to  see  him  every  morning  as  she  went  to 
work,  and  would  watch  eagerly  for  him  when  she  came 
home  at  night.  They  had  never  exchanged  a  word,  and 
she  always   found  him  gazing  seriously  over  the  way. 


THE  CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


Although  Charlotte  had  not  a  nice  discretion  on  the 
subject  of  dress,  she  possessed  a  good,  kind  heart,  which 
is  perhaps  the  best  thing  to  own,  after  all. 


Alexander  was  so  patient,  sitting  there  day  after  day, 
with  nobody  to  play  with  but  his  curious  thoughts,  that 
he  quite  won  her. 

From  time  to  time  she  would  bring  him  the  most 
incongruous  presents  as  tributes,  and  lay  them  on  the  out- 


THE  CHILDREN   OF    THE   WEEK. 


side  window-sill  as  she  went  by  in  the  mornings.  When 
she  returned  at  night,  they  were  gone ;  and  by  that  sign 
she  knew  that  he  had  received  them,  and  was  pleased. 

Now  it  was  a  "  jaw-breaker ; "   now  it  was  a  piece  of 
patent    chewing-gum,   or    three    or    four    "  migs ; "    once    a 


"  moon-agate ; "    and    once    a    pink    celluloid    ring,    which 
she   recognized  on   his    first   finger  at  their  next  meeting. 
But  Charlotte's   most   successful   present   was   a  varie- 
gated  verbena,   planted    in   a   tomato-can. 

3° 


THE  CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


This  gratified  Alexander  exceedingly.  He  placed  it 
at  the  window  in  the  sunniest  spot,  and  called  it  his 
"  garden." 

It  began  to  be  the  busy  holiday  season,  and  Char- 
lotte Russe  was  kept  at  the  store  until  very  late.  She 
recompensed  herself  by  spending  more  than  usual  for 
bandoline  and  chocolate  eclairs. 

On  Christmas-eve,  after  she  had  paid  her  ferry-money, 
she  had  only  fifty  cents  and  a  penny  left  in  her  round 
gray  leather  purse. 

When  she  reached  the  hall-door  of  the  front  tene- 
ment on  South  First  Street,  she  stopped,  opened  her 
purse,  and  took  out  the  two  coins.  She  jingled  them 
once  or  twice  in  her  hand,  and  let  them  slide  back  into 
the  purse. 

Then  she  changed  her  mind,  and  took  the  penny 
out    again. 

It  was  a  quarter  to  twelve,  and  a  beautiful  starlight 
night. 

She  turned,  and  went  out  to  Alexander's  window. 

It    was    as    dark    as    Egypt    inside. 


THE   CHILDREN  OE    THE   WEEK. 


The    silver    rays    of    the    moon   were    glinting    on    the 


j-e  -p 


panes  of  glass.     There  was  a  great  bustle   and  a   dazzle 
of   electric  light  on   Fourth  Street. 


THE   CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


Charlotte  laid  the  penny  on  the  sill,  which  was 
already    covered    with    a    heavy    rime    of    frost. 

"  I  hope  Alexander  will  see  this  in  the  morning," 
she    said ;    "  and    I    wish    him    a    merry    Christmas." 

When    Alexander    woke    up,    Christmas    had    dawned, 


and  the  whole  world  was  glad  of  it.  He  lay  and 
listened  to  the  sleigh-bells  coming  nearer — nearer  — 
NEARER;  and  then  growing  fainter  and  fainter,  until 
lost    in    the    distance. 

Some   boys   blowing   horns   in   the   street   excited   him 
so,  that  he  got  up  out  of    bed,  and  dressed  himself. 

33 


THE   CHILDREN   OE    THE   WEEK. 


He  found  some  bluefish  and  potatoes  soldered  on- 
to a  tin  plate  in  the  oven,  and  a  pot  of  coffee  boiling 
itself   to    destruction    on    the    top    of    the    stove. 

His  mother,  who  did  every  kind  of  work  for  ten 
shillings  a  day,  had  left  before  sunrise  to  assist  at  the 
cooking    of    a    big    Christmas    dinner. 

After  finishing  breakfast,  he  limped  to  the  window 
on  his  crutch,  and  poured  a  little  water  over  the 
"garden." 

He  glanced  wistfully  at  some  children  who  were 
hurrying    by    in    their    Sunday-go-to-meeting    clothes. 

"  They  are  bound  for  their  grandfather's,  who  lives 
around  the  corner,"  Alexander  said  to  himself ;  "  and 
they  will  come  back  with  a  market-basket  full  of 
presents." 

It  never  occurred  to  him  to  be  envious,  or  that 
their    lot    and    his    might   have    been    reversed. 

The  people  on  the  sidewalk  had  their  arms  loaded 
with    bundles. 

Suddenly  he  noticed  a  copper-colored  spot  sparkling 
in    the    frost    on    the    outside    window-sill. 

34 


THE  CHILDREN  OF    THE   WEEK. 


After    much    trouble,    he    pushed    the   sash    up,   for   it 
was    sticky    with    ice,   and    he    was    very    weak. 


fe 


Then    he    took    a    three-pronged    fork    off    the    table, 
and   chopped   around   the   spot   with   all    his    puny   might. 


THE  CHILDREN  OF    THE   WEEK. 


It    was    slow    business,    and    he    grew    real    warm    and 
tired. 


While  he  was  still  chopping,  the  copper-colored  spot 
flew  up  and  hit  him  coldly  on  the  cheek,  bounced  into 
the    room    on    the    floor,    and    rolled    under    the    table. 

Alexander  crawled  down  after  it,  caught  it,  and 
held  it  tight  in  his  tiny  blue  hands.  It  was  one 
cent. 

He  carried    it    triumphantly  to    the  stove    to    thaw    it 

out. 

36 


THE   CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


"  Poor  little  Red  Indian ! "  he  whispered,  looking  down 
at  it.  "  You  have  come  to  spend  Christmas  Day  with 
me,    haven't   you  ?  " 

All  at  once  the  head  of  the  Red 
Indian  on  the  copper  cent  turned  slowly 
round,  and  looked  him  squarely  in  the 
face. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  Red  Indian  abruptly,  after  a 
pause ;  "  I  have  been  waiting  for  you  on  the  window- 
sill    all    night." 

"  I  suppose  She  placed  you  there  ? "  Alexander  in- 
quired. 

"  She  did,"  answered  the  Red  Indian.  "  I  was  the 
only  one  she  had.  She  wished  you  a  merry  Christ- 
mas." 

"  She  is  a  very  excellent  person,"  remarked  Alex- 
ander. 

"  There  is  only  one  serious  fault  in  her  character," 
returned  Alexander's  visitor :  "  she  is  too  ready  to  part 
with   her   Red    Indians.      But   that    is    a   common   failing, 

37 


THE   CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


as  I  have  noted  while  travelling  from  pocket-book  to 
pocket-book." 

"  I  have  travelled  myself,"  said  Alexander,  with 
interest  :    "  I    have    been    to    Far    Rockaway. 

"  Have  you  ever  been  to  Far  Rockaway  ?  It  is  a 
lovely    place. 

"  There  are  ever  so  many  trees  on  the  road,  — 
whole  forests  of  them,  —  as  many  as  four  or  five 
together. 

"  You  see,  the  way  we  came  to  get  to  Far  Rock- 
away was  this.  A  preacher-man  and  his  wife  brought 
a  whole  lot  of  us  childern  to  it  for  a  week,  to  keep 
them  company.  We  had  cake  and  milk  and  apple- 
sauce, and  once  we  had  ice-cream.  Gracious  !  but  the 
water  is  big  clown  there.  It  rolls  up  all  over  the 
road. 

"  Some  of  the  childern  went  into  it ;  but  I  did  not, 
'cause   maybe,   perhaps,    it    might    have    hurted   my   foot." 

Alexander  was  never  so  contented  as  when  discuss- 
ing   the    blissful    week    at    Rockaway. 

If    he    had     been    entertained     by    crowned    heads    at 

3S 


THE   CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


every  capital  of  Europe,  he  could  hardly  appear  to  have 
travelled    farther. 

"  You  must  have  had  an  extensive  experience  also," 
observed    Alexander. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  answered  the  Red  Indian:  "my  birth- 
day — ■  you  may  have  remarked  it  under  my  collar  — 
was    in    the    year    1864. 

"  I  was  one  of  the  first  of  a  large  tribe  of  Red 
Indians    struck    off    at    the    Philadelphia    mint. 

"  The  crash  we  made  in  being  poured  out  of  a 
sack  upon  the  floor,  was  louder  than  a  load  of  coal 
emptied    on    the  sidewalk." 

"  We  buy  our  coal  by  the  bushel,  in  a  basket," 
put    in    Alexander. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Red  Indian  reflectively,  without 
appearing  to  notice  this  remark,  "  I  have  seen  some- 
thing   of    life    in    my    time. 

"  Ah  !  once  I  was  a  prize  in  a  package  of  caramels. 
Those  were  proud,  happy  days.  It  is  not  every  Red 
Indian    who    can    be    a    prize. 

"  Then    I    lay  on   the  nursery  mantel-piece,  in   an   iron 

39 


THE   CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


bank,  for  nearly  three  weeks.  There  was  a  monkey 
cashier  on  the  outside  of  the  bank,  who  wore  a  scarlet 
coat,  and  who  rang  a  bell,  wrote  rapidly  in  a  large 
book,  and   stopped   with   a  jerk   as   I    was   pushed   in. 


"  I  was  being  saved  up  to  buy  a  Christmas  present 
with  for  a  little  boy's  mamma.  I  believe  the  little  boy 
bought  a  ruby  glass  globe  for  the  gas-jet  in  the  hall. 
I  understood  from  the  monkey  cashier  that  he  had 
taken  the  white  globe  to  try  to  have  it  dyed,  as  a 
surprise  to  his  mother ;  but,  finding  this  impossible, 
had    purchased    the    ruby   glass    globe    instead. 

"  One  evening  in  August,"  the   Red   Indian   continued, 

40 


THE  CHILDREN   OE   THE   WEEK. 


"  a  man  gave  me,  with  seven  other  Red  Indians,  to  a 
little  girl,  and  sent  her  around  after  beer.  The  little 
girl    dropped    us,  one    after  the    other,  into   a   tin   bucket, 


which  the    man    called  '  The    Growler,'  and    capered    over 
the    pavement,    jolting    us    like    mad. 

"  A   German    band,   which   goes    by   the   title   of    '  The 

41 


THE   CHILDREN   OF    THE   WEEK. 


Five  Lazy  Brothers,'  but  which  works  as  hard  as,  or 
harder  perhaps  than,  the  most  of  us,  I  take  it,  was 
playing  tunes  in  front  of  the  saloon  as  we  approached  ; 
and    a    number    of    ragged    children    were    waltzing    in 


couples. 


E33 


"  The  little  girl  who  carried  us  in  the  bucket 
stopped  to  show  them  that  she  could  dance  the  '  One, 
two,    three,    and    a    kick.' 

"  At   this,   myself    and    my   brothers    became    so    terri- 

42 


THE  CHILDREN  OF   THE  WEEK. 


bly  angry,  that,  at  the  first  kick,  we  sprang  up  into 
the  air,  and  sped  away  on  the  sidewalk  in  every  direc- 
tion. 


•D-C.p . 


"  I    concealed    myself    in    the    gutter,    near    the    curb- 
stone. 

43 


THE   CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


"  I   heard   the   little   girl  crying  bitterly  at  not  having 
found    me. 


"  By  and  by  a  white-headed   gentleman  —  I   could  see 
him    quite    plainly   through    a    crack  in    the    curbstone  — 


44 


THE   CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


took    pity    on    the    little    girl,    and    gave    her    an     Indian 
in    my    place. 

"  This   comforted   the  little  girl   at  once  :    she  entered 
the    saloon,    and     in    a    few     moments     afterward    came 


running    out    with    her    pail    of    beer,    and    leaning    over 
sideways,    so    as    not    to    spill    any. 

"  Her  footsteps    died   away   down   the   street ;    then    I 
became    interested    in    something    else. 

45 


THE  CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


"  The  night  closing  in,  a  man  appeared  with  a  lad- 
der,   and    lit    a    street-lamp. 

"  About  that  time  a  great  many  workmen,  with 
dinner-cans  in  their  hands,  were  jogging  home  to 
supper. 

"  At  ten  o'clock  the  streets  became  very  lively,  and 
kept  so  until  towards  eleven,  when  the  noise  began  to 
subside. 

"  It  was  after  twelve  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and 
there  was  nobody  on  the  whole  block  but  a  big,  lum- 
bering   night-watchman. 

"  I  was  just  settling  myself  for  a  comfortable  sleep, 
when,  above  my  head  on  the  curbstone,  I  caught  a 
glimpse  of  several  quaint,  childish  feet,  passing  grace- 
fully back  and  forth,  as  though  they  were  dancing  as 
they    sang. 

"  The    song    was    this  :  — 

"  '  Monday's   child   is   fair   of   face ; 
Tuesday's   child   is   full   of   grace  ; 
Wednesday's   child   is    merrie   and   glad  ; 
Thursday's   child   is   sour   and   sad  ; 

46 


THE   CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


Friday's   child   is   loving  and   giving  ; 
And   Saturday's   child   must   work  for   his   living  ; 
But   the   child   that   is   born   on   the   sabbath   day 
Is   blithe,   and   bonnie,   and   good,    and   gay.' 

"  When  they  had  finished  singing,  they  came  and  sat 
side  by  side  along  the  curbstone  above  my  head,  —  seven 
pairs  of  quaint,  childish  feet. 

"  I  counted  them,  but  could  see  nothing  else  at  that 
time. 

"  I  gathered  from  their  song,  and  from  what  they 
said,  that  they  were  the  Children  of  the  Week,  and  that 
their  names   were 

MONDAY,  THURSDAY, 

TUESDAY,  FRIDAY, 

IVEDNESDA  Y,  SA  TURD  A  Y, 

and  SUNDAY; 

that,  thousands  of  years  ago,  the  man  who  makes  the 
almanacs  had  made  a  mistake  ;  that,  in  consequence  of 
this    mistake,    every    few    hundred    years    the    world   was 

47 


THE   CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


cheated  out  of  an  hour.  That,  not  wishing  his  mistake 
to  be  discovered,  that  sly  man  who  makes  the  almanacs, 
had  taken  no  account  of  this  in  his  almanacs ;  that, 
in  the  course  of  hundreds  of  years,  the  lost  Hours  had 
grown  up  into  Days ;  and  that,  on  this  identical  Mon- 
day night,  there  was  a  whole  week  of  them.  Here 
they  were,  seven,  lost,  unaccounted-for  Days,  sitting  on 
the    curbstone    above    my  head." 

"  How    delightful  !  "    said    Alexander. 

"  They  were  the  most  congenial  people  I  ever  lis- 
tened to,"  answered  the  Red  Indian.  "Their  conversa- 
tion   was    charming. 

"  Monday,  who  was  the  first  Child  of  the  Week, 
related    a    story. 

"  For  seven  nights  in  succession,  during  which  time 
I  remained  concealed  in  the  gutter,  they  were  on  the 
sidewalk,  promptly  at  half-past  twelve,  entertaining  each 
other    with    stories    and    singing." 

"  And  these  tales,  —  you  will  tell  them  to  me  ?  " 
suggested    Alexander. 

"  Only    one    every    day    during    the    holidays,"    replied 


4s 


THE   CHILDREN  OF    THE   WEEK. 


the  Red  Indian.  "  It  tires  me  to  turn  my  head,  and  my 
lungs  are  not  strong ;  besides,  in  this  way  the  stories 
will    last    longer." 

"  Very    well,    then,"    said    Alexander.     "  Begin." 


•  D  •  C  •  P  ■ 


The-F^ll-  OfG^eatC  HUNaKEE 


THE  Red  Indian  cleared  his  throat  in  a  dignified 
manner. 

"  Stop  a  moment  !  ,:  cried  Alexander.  "  Are  you 
quite    thawed  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  Red  Indian,  "  yes.  I  am 
naturally  so  warm-blooded,  that  I  often  burn  holes  in 
people's    pockets.      But    come,   let    us    get    to    the    story." 

"  I    am    all    attention,"    replied    Alexander. 

The  Red  Indian  moistened  his  lips  with  his  tongue, 
and    began  :  — 

"  It  is  a  singular  fact,  now  I  think  of  it,"  he 
said,  "  that  I  never  had  a  good  look  at  either  of 
the  Days  of  the  Week.  They  all  kept  too  near  the 
curbstone. 

"  I  did  hear  Monday  say  that  she  was  named 
after  the  Moon,  who  was  her  godmother.  After  that. 
I    heard    her    relate    this    story. 


Monday's   child    is    fair   of  face." 

HE  artist  called  him 
Chung  Kee.  He  was 
a  little  still-life  Chinese  model,  with  looking-glass  eyes, 
and   a   scarlet   mouth,   nicely  tucked   in   at   the   corners. 

There  were  many  rich,  beautiful  draperies,  curious 
vases,  swinging-lamps,  soft  rugs,  and  I  don't  know 
what  all,  in  the  artist's  studio  ;  but  Chung  Kee  was 
considered    by    far    the    most    perfect    thing    there. 

He  must  have  been  a  "  mandarin,"  or  something, 
in  his  native  country,  he  wore  such  a  splendid  buff- 
paper  robe,  shot  all  over  with  crimson  poppies  and 
olive-leaves. 

53 


THE   CHILDREN  OF    THE   WEEK 


Chung  Kee  was  conscious  of  his  high  calling,  for 
all  day  long  there  hovered  about  his  lips  a  completely 
self-satisfied    smile.       The     artist     had     made    what     he 


called  "  an  arrangement  "  out  of  him ;  that  is,  he  had 
stood  him  on  a  mantel-piece  covered  with  blue  velours, 
in    front   of    an   old    yellow    sampler,   in    the    shade    of    a 

54 


< 


56 


THE   CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK, 


peacock  fan.  The  artist  then  painted  a  full-length 
portrait  of  Chung  Kee  in  this  position,  which  he  sent 
to  the  Academy,  and  which  was  decorated  with  the 
small  salmon-colored  ticket  —  Sold — the  first  day  of 
the    exhibition. 

But  Chung  Kee  was  destined  to  have  a  rival.  One 
morning  a  little  live  model  walked  into  the  studio. 
It  was  a  nice,  cool,  shady  place  to  come  to  on  such 
a    hot    June    day. 

When  the  artist  tied  the  strings  of  a  big  white 
frilled  night-cap  under  her  chin,  and  posed  her  in 
a  funny  big  oak  chair,  the  little  live  model  rather 
liked    it. 

At  first  Chung  Kee  gazed  down  serenely  from  his 
velours  mantel-piece  at  all  this.  But,  when  the  little 
live  model  was  treated  by  the  artist  to  Boston  chips 
and  marshmallow  drops,  his  parchment  whistle  burned 
with    jealousy. 

"  He  never  offered  them  to  me,  and  I  have  posed 
by  the  hour,"  Chung  Kee  thought  bitterly ;  "  and  I 
could    not    have    eaten    them    if    he    had." 

57 


THE   CHILDREN  OF    THE   WEEK. 


Things  were  growing  worse  and  worse.  The  next 
day  the.  little  live  model  came  again.  As  she  did  not 
have  pretty  hair,  the  artist  in  the  mean  time  had  painted 
in,  with  his  clever  brush,  a  profusion  of  lovely  golden 
curls. 

The  little  live  model  walked  straight  to  the  big 
chair,  tied  on  the  night-cap,  and  sat  down.  When  it 
was  time  to  rest,  she  looked  over  the  artist's  shoulder 
at    the    golden    curls    in    the    picture. 

"  That  isn't  me,"  she  said,  tossing  her  head.  "  My 
hair   is    berrer    'en    that." 

And  she  pulled  off  her  night-cap  to  show  her  back 
hair,    which    was    about    an    inch    long. 

Chung  Kee's  looking-glass  eyes  sparkled  with  cruel 
pleasure. 

The  artist,  while  glancing  about  to  find  something 
with  which  to  amuse  the  little  live  model,  met  those 
same    envious    looking-glass    eyes. 

He  went  to  the  mantel,  and,  taking  Chung  Kee 
down,  carried  him  over  to  show  her.  For  a  moment 
the    two    models    were    face    to   face. 

58 


THE  CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


Then    suddenly  the    little    live    model    caught    him    in 
her    sticky    fingers,   and    threw    him    on    the    floor. 


It   was   a  naughty  thing   to   do,   and    it   broke   Chung 
Kee's    parchment    whistle. 

When   they   lifted    him    up,   there    was   a  sticky   stain 

59 


THE   CHILDREN  OF    THE   WEEK. 


on  his  chin.  It  would  not  wash  out.  When  they 
stood  him  on  the  blue  velours  mantel,  under  the  pea- 
cock fan,  his  head  hung  down,  and  they  could  not 
persuade    him    to    lift    it. 


*4  ilSlfi  . 


60 


•^Jhe-ChristmasPapty-in-thc  • 
•  3  ack-ya.pd  -and  -who  -vepe  •  jnvited 


A  S  soon  as  his  mother  had  gone  to  her  work  the 
^.  jL  following  morning,  Alexander  was  anxious  for 
the    Red    Indian    to    commence. 

The  recital  of  these  stories  was  an  important  event 
in  Alexander's  monotonous  little  life.  He  took  the 
penny    over    near    the    stove. 

The  Red  Indian  shook  the  crown  of  feathers  on 
his    head    by    way    of    introduction. 

"  The  next  evening  they  were  every  one  there 
again,"  said  the  Red  Indian  ;  "  and  they  were  as  gay 
and    merry    as    Santa    Claus 

"  Tuesday  informed  the  rest  that  her  godfather  was 
Tyw,  the  Northern  god  of  war ;  and  that,  she  said, 
was    how  she    came    to    be    called    Tuesday. 

"  Then  she  related  a  story  about  a  flock  of  snow- 
birds, the  manuscript  of  which,  she  told  them,  she  had 
received  from  the  author,  who  was  a  nervous  literary 
old    bachelor. 

"  This    was    Tuesday's    story."  — 

64 


TUESDAY'S    STORY. 


"  Tuesday's    child    is    full    of  grace." 

AM    a    lonely    old    bachelor. 

I  live  by  myself  up  two  flights  of  stairs. 
My  window  has  a  fine  sweep  of  all  the 
back-yards  in  the  block.  I  sit  by  it  some- 
times, after  the  trouble  of  the  day  is  over, 
and  watch  with  interest  the  domestic  economy  of  my 
neighbors. 

I    can,    if     I    choose,    take    a    bird's-eye    view    of    the 
happy    laundry-girls    hanging    up    the    clothes. 

In     summer-time     I     see    corpulent     gentlemen,    with 

their    coats    off,    reading    the    news. 

65 


THE   CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


There    is    a    dear    old    lady    whom     I     have    a    great 
fancy  for.     All    through   flower-time,   evening   and    morn- 


M\w% 


ing,  her  broad  straw  hat  neatly  adjusted,  and  a  basket 
and  scissors  in  her  kind  hands,  I  watch  her  pruning 
and    tying,    watering    and    digging ;     lifting    the    faces    of 

66 


THE   CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


the  young  buds  as  tenderly  as  if  they  were  human 
faces,  so  they  may  readily  feel  the  touch  of  God's 
holy    dew. 

I  like  this  old  lady.  I  once  saw  her  give  a  ripe 
peach  from  the  garden  fence  to  a  little  boy  who  had 
climbed    over    to    hunt    for    his    cat. 

Sometimes  I  catch  this  good  soul's  eye  as  she 
glances  up  to  see  how  the  weather  is,  and  then  she 
invariably    smiles    at    me. 

I  have  a  name  in  my  mind  for  every  one  of  my 
neighbors. 

There  is  a  small  boy  in  the  next  house  to  me, 
whom    I    call    Samuel    Todgers. 

He  is  very  prim :  there  is  a  round  curl  on  the  top 
of  his  head  that  looks  like  a  wave.  He  never  smiles  : 
he    is    young,    but    takes    life    seriously. 

He    has    just    learned    to   walk  :    he   walks   constantly. 

His  mother  is  a  stout  lady,  who  escorts  him  every- 
where. 

I  see  them  on  the  street  occasionally,  both  in  thin 
muslin. 

67 


THE  CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


Samuel    balances    himself    upon    the    curbstone    with 
great    credit    to    his    family- 


There  are  two  other  children,  however,  more  delight- 

6S 


THE  CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


ful  even  than  Samuel  Todgers.  They  are  brother  and 
sister,  and  are  not  in  the  least  of  his  temperament, 
for    they   are    both    born    romps. 

I  call  them  little  Annie  Seed  and  Master  Ben 
Zine. 

Miss  Seed  has  brown  curls  and  a  pair  of  laugh- 
ing eyes.  Do  you  know,  there  are  very  few  eyes  in 
this    world    that    really    laugh. 

Master  Ben  Zine  is  strong  and  sturdy :  his  hands 
are  almost  as  brown  as  chestnuts.  He  is  fond  of 
adventure. 

One  autumn  he  climbed  up  a  steep  arbor  to  secure 
a    bunch    of    sweet   grapes    for    Miss    Seed. 

I  never  grow  tired  of  watching  them  :  I  feel  as 
thcugh  a  very  little  would  make  me  go  down  into 
the    garden    and    become    their    big    brother. 

On  occasions  Master  Ben  Zine  is  rather  naughty. 
I  shall  never  forget  that  spring  morning  that  I  went 
to  my  window  with  a  razor  in  one  hand  and  a  cup 
of    suds    in    the    other. 

Miss   Seed   was   ignominiously  seated  on  the   ground, 

69 


THE   CHILDREN  OF    THE   WEEK. 


sobbing.       Master    Ben     Zine    had    wilfully    chopped    off 
the    head    of    her    favorite    zinnia    with    a    stick. 

He    was    unconsciously    imitating    the    Emperor    Tar- 
quin. 


s  21  \ 


About  six  months  from  that  time,  nearly  a  week 
after  Christmas,  on  a  delightfully  frosty  afternoon,  it 
chanced  that  I  rose  from  my  easy-chair  by  the  hearth, 
and,  going  to  the  window",  drew  the  curtain  and  looked 
out. 

The    beautiful,   gay   flower-beds    in    the  garden   below 

were   nicely   tucked   under    Jack    Frost's   snow-blankets. 

70 


THE   CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


The  sun  made  the  whole  scene  sparkle  charmingly. 
To  be  sure,  the  green  leaves  of  the  grape-vines  had 
all  blown  away ;  but  the  stems  were  well  laden  down 
with    long-pointed    jewels    of    ice. 

The  windows  of  the  opposite  houses  had  patches 
of  snow  over  them,  which  gave  the  appearance  of 
ever    so    many    eyes    under    heavy   gray    eyebrows. 

And  there  were  the  children,  bundled  up  snugly  in 
fur  and  worsted,  chasing  about  in  the  drifts,  and 
pelting  each  other  with  this  delicious  plaything  sent 
from    heaven. 

In  the  centre  of  the  garden  stood  a  tall,  dark- 
green  something,  half  buried  under  the  load  of  feathery 
flakes.      This    was    the    deserted    Christmas-tree. 

Two  huge,  wooden  shovels  leaned  against  it.  Oh, 
what    lazy    shovels  ! 

As  soon  as  Miss  Seed  and  Master  Ben  caught 
sight  of  these,  with  a  shout  of  joy  they  plunged  across 
what    used    to    be    the   garden-plot. 

I  beheld  them  flourish  the  shovels,  or  try  to,  and 
immediately    fall    to    work    making    a    path. 

7' 


THE   CHILDREN  OF    THE   WEEK. 


Presently  they  both  rushed  for  the  Christmas-tree, 
and,  beating  the  snow  off  vigorously,  with  infinite  labor 
dragged    it    to    the    centre    of    the    garden. 

Their  cheeks  were  as  crimson  as  Master  Ben's 
mittens. 


Just   then    somebody   called    me  away  into   the    house. 

When    I    returned    to   the   window,  the    sky   was   rosy 
with    the    sunset. 

I    threw    up    the    sash,    and    leaned    out    on    the    slip- 
pery   stone    window-sill. 

72 


THE  CHILDREN  OF   THE  WEEK. 


A  welcome  breath  of  crisp,  wintry  air  rushed  over 
my  face,  and  pulled  my  beard.  I  heard  the  ringing 
voices    of    my    child    friends    still    playing    below. 

Miss  Seed  declared  that  it  was  as  cold  as  if  they 
had    been    eating    peppermint-drops. 

Then  there  was  a  momentary  stillness.  I  looked 
down. 

What  was  my  surprise  to  see,  in  the  centre  of  the 
garden-plot,  a  large  flock  of  snow-birds,  hovering  over 
a  lighted  Christmas-tree,  heavy  and  loaded  with  innu- 
merable   little    squares    of    bread. 

There  was  a  halo  of  light  from  the  tiny,  flickering 
candles  in  the  green  branches,  reflected  on  the  glitter- 
ing,   crystal    snow. 

In  the  soft  splendor  of  the  light,  their  sweet  faces 
upward  turned  like  the  flowers  in  the  old  lady's  gar- 
den, they  were  standing  side  by  side,  breathless  and 
happy. 

The  sinking  sun,  slanting  across  the  opposite  panes, 
struck  into  flaming  fire.  The  red  glow  of  the  sky 
clung   to   the   pale   stone   walls   and   roofs   of    the   houses. 


THE  CHILDREN  OF    THE   WEEK. 


Suddenly  the  bells  from  a  distant  tower  broke 
into  a  chime.  Again  I  looked  down.  One  of  the 
two  —  the    boy  —  caught    sight    of    me.      He    smiled. 

"  We  are  giving  the  birds  a  Christmas  party,"  he 
said. 

The  flock  of  grateful  snow-birds  were  still  wheeling 
through    the    air,    and    hovering    about    the    tree. 

I  thought  of  young  angels  singing,  somewhere  in 
the  bosom  of  that  rosy  sky,  their  carols  to  the  sacred 
season.  I  thought  of  Him  who,  standing  in  the 
Eastern    temple,    said,  — 

"  Ye    must    become    as    little    children." 


..-/^' 


IfltfOTT^ru-  - 


;  WE    ARE    GIVING    THE    BIRDS    A    CHRISTMAS    PARTY.' 


,?/   t* 


1h£ 


IV. 

ON  Wednesday,  just  as  the  Red  Indian  was  on 
the  point  of  entering  upon  his  third  story, 
Alexander    interrupted    him. 

"  Won't  you  have  some  refreshments  ?  "  said  Alex- 
ander, pointing  to  a  tin  plate  on  the  table,  on  which 
was    a    bit    of    chuck-steak    and    a    morsel    of    potato. 

"  No,  I  thank  you.  I  am  troubled  with  indiges- 
tion," answered  the  Red  Indian,  "  and  I  have  to  use 
extreme    caution    in    my    diet. 

"  But  listen-  Wednesday  began  by  saying  that  he 
was  named  after  the  great  one-eyed  Scandinavian  god 
Woden." 

"  You    don't    say    so !  "    exclaimed    Alexander. 

"  And,  by  the  way,"  proceeded  the  Red  Indian,  "  it 
is  reported  that  Woden,  by  drinking  from  a  delicious 
fountain,  became  the  wisest  of  gods  and  men  ;  but 
that  he  purchased  this  distinction  at  the  cost  of  his 
eye. 

"  However  that   may   be,   here   is   Wednesday's   story." 


WEDNESDAY'S   STORY. 


"  Wednesday's    child    is    raerrie    and    ttl;itl. 


EORGE  TULIP  was  a  rosy- 
cheeked  boy,  with  a  pair  of 
dirty  hands,  and  a  very  stupid 
head  for  the  nine  parts  of 
speech.  In  fact,  as  far  as  his 
knowledge  of  grammar  went,  he  was  a  dunce ;  and 
that  is  a  very  unpleasant  thing  to  be,  especially  when 
one   gets    a    daily    thrashing,    you    know. 


THE  CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


Well,  George  Tulip  was  a  dunce ;  and  his  teacher 
knew    it,    all    the    school    knew    it,    and    he    knew    it. 

He  felt  very  sulky  about  it  on  this  particular  day; 
for    he    had    come    out    of    school    with    a    red,    swollen 


C.p 


hand,  and  a  pair  of  red,  swollen  eyes  :  though  he 
would  not  cry  about  a  thrashing,  not  he  ;  no,  no !  he 
was    too    brave    for    that. 

George    Tulip    lived    in    a    nice,    little    house,    near    a 
nice,  little  village   in   which   stood   the  schoolhouse  ;   and, 


So 


THE  CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


when  he  went  home  every  day,  he  had  to  go  through 
an    open    field    and    then    through    a    piece    of    woods. 

It  was  about  four  o'clock  on  a  summer  afternoon. 
He  had  been  kept  in  again,  and  the  heat  had  not  yet 
faded  away.  The  sun  looked  hot  and  starey  through 
the  mist  in  George  Tulip's  eyes  ;  but  its  saucy,  know- 
ing look  put  him  out,  for  it  seemed  to  have  too  much 
information    for    a    well-balanced    sun. 

Presently  he  came  to  a  fresh  bit  of  grass,  by  a 
noble,  old  tree  :  so  he  threw  himself  down,  all  breath- 
less, and  rosier  than  ever ;  and,  folding  his  inky  fingers 
under  his  head,  he  fell  to  watching  a  domestic  robin 
up  in  the  tree,  and  thinking  about  the  detested  les- 
sons   at    the    same    time. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  —  for  he  had  a  great  habit  of 
talking  to  himself  aloud,  — "  what  good  can  there  be 
in    a    fellow's    learning    that    horrible    stuff  ? 

"  I'll  never  have  the  faintest  idea  of  what  it  all 
means,  I  am  sure,  any  more  than  that  round  robin 
up    above    me." 

Whereupon    the    round    robin    looked    very    wise,    as 

Si 


THE  CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


if  it  knew  what  it  knew.  But  George  Tulip  did  not 
mind    that,    and    went    on    talking    to    himself. 

"  I  was  always  very  shaky  on  the  subject  of 
fairies  ;  but  I'm  blest,  if  I  wouldn't  like  to  get  a 
glimpse  of  one  this  moment,  for  I  don't  believe  any- 
body   else    could    help    me." 

And  just  then  the  robin  looked  down  from  his 
nest,    and    called    out,  — 

"  You're    right,    there  !  " 

George  Tulip  glanced  up,  and,  to  his  surprise,  saw 
that  the  old  tree  had  grown  into  a  ragged  pair  of 
stairs  ;  and  the  round  robin  nodded  to  him  as  if  it 
said    as    plainly    as    possible,  — 

"  Come    up ! " 

So  he  began  climbing  up.  But,  as  fast  as  he 
climbed,  it  hopped  on  above  him  ;  and  the  stairs  began 
to    grow    and    grow. 

He  kept  bravely  on,  for  he  was  sure  that  the 
stairs  and  the  round  robin  would  stop  sometime, 
though  he  was  rather  astonished  when  he  found  the 
stairs    making    directly   for    the    sun,    and    still    more    so 

S2 


THE   CHILDREN  OF    THE   WEEK. 


when,    as    he    came    near    the    brilliant    orb    of    day,    he 
saw  its   mouth   open,  like   a  great   portcullis ;    and   on   its 


huge    upper    lip    was    written,    in    long,   black    letters,  — 
"THE    GRAMMAR    COURT." 
Here    the     stairs     stopped,    and     he     saw    the     round 
robin    go    in    with    a    crowd    of    gay    and    festive    people. 
When    he    mounted    to    the    top    of    the    stairs,    he    went 

83 


THE   CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


in  too.  He  found  himself  in  a  lofty  chamber  of 
clouds. 

Away  up  at  one  end,  under  an  immense  rainbow, 
sat  a  haughty-looking  king ;  and  the  gay  and  festive 
people    ranged    themselves    on    either    side    of    him. 

By  and    by   the    King   called   out    in   a   loud   voice,  — 

"  Where    is    little    Article,    our    page  ? " 

Immediately  a  small  boy,  in  a  mighty  pair  of 
slippers,  who  looked  a  very  little  article  indeed,  stood 
trembling    before    the    King. 

"  Well,"  roared  the  King,  "  don't  stand  loafing 
about  here,  but  run  as  fast  as  you  can  to  the  royal 
presence  of  Queen  Noun,  and  tell  her  we  request  her 
attendance." 

Whereat  the  little  Article,  tremblirfg  a  great  deal, 
skipped  backward  to  the  door,  and  then  ran  off  as 
fast    as    he    could. 

"  For,"  said  the  King,  trying  to  get  off  a  poor 
joke,  "  how  could  King  Verb  be  merry  if  the  object 
of  his  thoughts  and  the  subject  of  his  affections  be 
absent    from .  his    throne?" 


'AWAY  UP  AT  ONE  END,  UNDER  AN   IMMENSE   RAINBOW,  SAT  A   HAUGHTY-LOOKING   KING;    AND 
THE  GAY  AND   FESTIVE  PEOPLE  RANGED  THEMSELVES  ON  EITHER  SIDE  OF  HIM." 


THE  CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


This  sally  appeared  to  tickle  all  the  gay  and  festive 
people  amazingly,  for  they  giggled  a  great  deal,  and 
were     much     annoyed     because     George    Tulip    did     not 


li-C-P' 


giggle    also,    although    he    could    not    for    the    world    tell 
what    they    were    having    so    much    fun    about. 

One  of  them  would  have  spoken  to  him  had  not 
his  Majesty  just  then  called  out  lustily  to  the  man 
at    the    door,  — 

87 


THE   CHILDREN  OF    THE   WEEK. 


"  Admit    them    instantly,    Sir    Preposition  !  " 
Sir     Preposition    obediently    drew    back    the    curtain, 
and    led     forward    a    lady    enveloped     in    a    long,    thick 

veil. 


The  King  hopped  down  from  his  throne,  he  was 
in  such  a  hurry,  exclaiming  as  he  went,  in  a  very 
hoarse    voice,  — 

"  Allow  thy  lord  to  rend  the  midnight  cloud,  and 
behold    the    moon    in    all    her    glory." 


ss 


THE  CHILDREN  OE    THE   WEEK. 


At  the  same  time  he  lifted  up  the  cloud,  as  he 
called  it,  and  disclosed,  not  the  slightest  hint  of  a 
beauty,   but   the  withered   face  of  a  hideous,   old  woman. 


Then  the  King,  I  am  ashamed  to  say,  turned  around, 
and    shook    his    fist    at    the    timid    little    Article. 

"  How  dare  you,  minion,"  shrieked  he,  "  point  out 
this  ugly,  old  Aunt  Pronoun,  placing  her  instead  of 
the    fairest    princess    living  ?      Soldiers,    soldiers  !  " 

Here     he     turned     almost     blue     in     the     face,     and 

s9 


THE   CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


motioned  towards  the  puny  little  Article  as  though  he 
were    a    lion. 

"  Seize    the    traitor !  "    hissed    the    King. 

The  soldiers  were  about  to  obey  when  a  piercing 
scream    rung    out    through    the    apartment. 


Everybody  looked  round  to  see  what  had  hap- 
pened ;  and,  sure  enough,  almost  next  to  where  George 
Tulip    stood,    a    very    spare    court-lady    had    fallen     into 

hysterics. 

9o 


THE  CHILDREN  OF    THE   WEEK. 


"  Oh,  alas  !  "  cried  she,  gasping  the  while  like  a  fish  ; 
"ah  me!  alack!  fiddle-dee-dee!  How  —  can  —  he — be — 
so  —  cruel  !  " 

Here  she  flung  herself  into  somebody's  arms,  and 
was    dragged    from    the    room. 

"  Ho,    ho  !  "    said    the    King.      "  Who's    that  ?  " 

"  Lady  Interjection,"  squeaked  the  little  Article, 
nervously    touching    his    hat. 

"  Lady  Interjection,  is  it  ?  Well,  she  had  better 
stop  if  she  knows  what  is  good  for  her.  However, 
that  won't  hinder  our  making  short  work  of  Aunt 
Pronoun.      Soldiers  !  " 

Again  the  soldiers  marched  up  most  decorously, 
when  a  handsome  young  courtier  rushed  forward,  and 
threw   himself    at    the    feet    of    the    King. 

"  My  dear  brother-in-law  —  I  mean,  your  Majesty!" 
—  he  exclaimed,  "  can't  you  make  up  your  royal  mind 
to  spare  this  dear,  old  party,  remembering  her  infirm- 
ities ?  Oh,  do  so,  I  beseech  you  !  Spare  also  my 
sister,  Queen  Noun  !  Call  to  mind  her  many  pleasing 
qualities. 


THE   CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


"  She  is  beautiful,  charming,  graceful,  witty,  loving, 
gentle  "  — 

"  Stop,  stop,  Adjective  !  ':  shouted  the  King  :  "  you 
will  drive  us  mad.  Get  up,  and  listen  to  my  Lord 
Adverb,  and  do  not  kneel  there,  chattering  like  a 
magpie." 


An  aged  and  venerable  man  had  approached  King 
Verb. 

As  Adjective  departed,  George  Tulip  heard  him 
whisper  in  the  prime  minister's  ear,  "  Do  your  best 
to    modify    him." 

9= 


THE  CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


The  old  man  nodded  sagaciously,  and  then  addressed 
his    sovereign    in    a    low,    clear    voice. 


"  Your   grace    will    pardon    the    rashness    of    an    aged 


93 


THE   CHILDREN  OE   THE   WEEK. 


man  if  I  say  you  have  acted  somewhat  hastily.  The 
advice  I  give  you  is,  to  think  slowly,  coolly,  deliber- 
ately,   and    wisely,    and    then    act  —  kingly." 

"  Excellent  !  "  said  the  testy  monarch,  for  he  had 
cooled  down  considerably.  "  Let  us  hear  what  Aunt 
Pronoun    can    say    for    herself." 

The  old  lady  seemed  very  cross  at  the  way  she 
had  been  abused.  She  drew  herself  up,  and  made  the 
King    wince,    she    looked    at    him    so    hard. 

"  I  have  nothing,  sire,  to  say  for  myself,'  she  said, 
"  save  that  the  Queen,  on  receiving  your  message,  bade 
me  come  with  the  news  that  you  have  a  young  prince 
born    to    you." 

You  cannot  imagine  how  the  people  shouted  for 
joy   at    this   announcement,   and    how    the    King   smiled. 

"  We  thank  you  for  this  glorious  news,  Madam 
Pronoun,"  said  the  King,  "  and  we  beg  you  to  pardon 
our    sudden    displeasure. 

"  In  recompense,  we  will  have  to  make  you  the 
prince's  godmother.  What  shall  the  name  of  his  Royal 
Highness    be  ?      Speak." 

94 


THE  CHILDREN  OF   THE  WEEK. 


Ladies  of  Pronoun's  age  are  not  so  easy  to  make  up 
with  :   so  she  looked  injured,  but  at  length  began  smiling. 

"  King  Verb,"  said  she,  "  I  was  much  grieved  at 
your    anger,    for    it    was    entirely    unmerited  :     but    I    re- 


-:-  -J, 


joice  at  your  kindness  ;  and,  in  token  of  your  having 
taken  the  Queen  and  myself  again  into  court  favor 
and  your  friendship,  I  will  name  the  young  prince  — 
Conjunction.'' 


95 


THE   CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


"  Hurrah  !  "   cried   George  Tulip,   he   was   so   mightily 
pleased,    "  I    see    it    all    now !  " 


"  I    am   glad    you   do,"    said    his   teacher's   voice,   close 
beside    him  ;     "  but    you     had    better    get    up    now,    else 


you    will    take   cold.      It   is   pretty   near    sunset,   and   you 
have    been    sleeping   on    this    grass   nearly   two   hours." 

George    Tulip    sat    up,    rubbed    his    eyes,    and    looked 
about    him.      There    he    was,    in    the    woods,    as    natural 

as    life.      Could    it    have    been    a    dream  ? 

96 


THE   CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


Ha  !  what  was  that  ?  He  happened  to  spy  the 
round  robin  looking  over   his   nest,  and  winking  at  him. 

He  got  up  and  followed  his  teacher,  never  speak- 
ing   a    word. 

But  from  that  day  to  this  he  firmly  believed  that 
what  he  saw  was  true,  and  from  that  day  to  this  I 
don't    believe    he    ever    missed  a    grammar    lesson. 


"piE-jAUGHINa- 


gas-Bf-°wnies  • 


V. 

I  WOULD  like  to  ask  you  a  very  impertinent 
question,"    said   Alexander,   on   Thursday   morning. 

"  And    that    is  ?  "    inquired    the    Red    Indian. 

"  Whether  your  face  is  the  likeness  of  one  of  our 
first    Presidents  ?  "    replied    Alexander. 

"Oh,  no!"  answered  the  Red  Indian.  "My  features 
are  those  of  a  noble  red  man,  and  my  name  —  I  will 
tell    you    privately  —  is    Aborigine. 

"  But,  in  regard  to  Thursday,"  the  Red  Indian 
went    on,    "  the    night    after,    it    was    his    turn. 

"  He  said  that  he  was  named  after  Thor,  the  god 
of    thunder,    who    was    the    son    of    Woden. 

"  Then    Thursday    related    his    story." 


Thela"dg$iing^gLas 
ibrpwniej3 . 

THURSDAY'S    STORY. 

"  Thursday's    child    is    sour    and    sad." 

ACK  ROSES  was  inclined  to 
be  stout.  His  cheeks  were 
sleek  and  red,  with  a  little 
dent  in  each.  He  was  contin- 
ually whistling  popular  airs. 
Last  winter  he  wore  a  brown 
velveteen  suit  and  a  broad 
linen    collar. 

His  tiny  sugar  teeth  used  to  be  as  white  and 
sound  as  a  mouse's  ;  but  the  confectionery  store,  on 
the    next    corner    but    one,    did    not    improve    them. 

He  got  so  that   it  was   more   becoming  not  to  laugh. 


THE  CHILDREN  OF    THE   WEEK. 


One  night  he  was  awake  several  hours,  with  a  hot 
pain    in    a    right    molar    tooth. 

The  next  morning  his  fat  cheek  was  fatter  and 
rosier  than  ever.  So  his  mother  put  on  her  wraps, 
and    took    him    around    to    Dr.    Brown's. 

Dr.  Brown's  pleasant  smile  showed  a  row  of  glit- 
tering   oval    teeth. 

Jack  Roses  thought  he  would  like  to  have  a  big 
straw-colored  mustache  himself,  like  Dr.  Brown's,  one 
of    these    days. 

The  doctor  lifted  him  up  in  a  huge  red-plush 
chair  with  most  of  the  nap  worn  off,  and  handed 
him  a  long  worsted  pipe,  at  the  end  of  which  was  a 
nickel  instrument,  which  Jack  at  first  took  for  a 
stereopticon. 

He  was  trying  to  look  through  it,  when  Dr.  Brown 
told  him  to  hold  it  to  -his  mouth,  and  take  a  long 
breath.  Two  or  three  more,  and  he  found  himself 
growing  awfully  drowsy.  Just  as  he  was  dropping 
off  to  sleep,  he  thought  he  heard  the  distant  sound 
of    ever    so    many    pickaxes. 


'SO    HIS    MOTHER    PUT    ON    HER    WRAPS,    AND    TOOK    HIM    AROUND    TO    DR.    BROWN'S.' 


THE  CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


Jack  raised  his  face  up  with  a  sudden  jerk,  and 
beheld  at  a  short  distance  in  front  of  him  two  enor- 
mous lips,  which  had  a  sort  of  vague  resemblance  to 
his    own. 


They   were    yawning    wide    open,    and    on    the    round- 
est   part    of    the    lower    lip  stood    a    Brownie    about    an 


eighth    of    an    inch    high. 


THE   CHILDREN   OF    THE    WEEK. 


The  Brownie  was  dressed  like  a  miner.  Its  panta- 
loons were  stuffed  into  a  very  rusty  pair  of  boots, 
and    a    bright    little    light    twinkled    in    its    cap. 

It  held  a  similar  light  in  its  infinitesimnlly  small 
hand,  which  it  made  passes  with,  to  attract  Jack 
Roses'    attention. 

"  Goodie  !  How  long  you've  kept  me  waiting  !  " 
it    squeaked    reproachfully. 

"  Who    are    you  ? "    inquired    Jack    Roses. 

"  Who  am  I  ? "  repeated  the  diminutive  creature 
eagerly.  "  Why,  Dr.  Brown  is  Dr.  Brown,  I  suppose ; 
and    we    are    the    Brownies." 

"  What    is    a    Brownie  ? "    asked    Jack    Roses. 

"  One  who  is  neither  a  Blackie  nor  a  Whitie," 
replied    the    Brownie    with    some    scorn. 

"  What  is  your  name  ? "  asked  Jack  Roses,  who 
was    apt    to    be    inquisitive. 

"  My  name  is  Foreman,  and  I  want  you  to  come 
over    here,"    returned    the    Brownie. 

Jack    Roses    went    over,    and    stood    by    the    side    of 

the    Brownie. 

1 06 


THE  CHILDREN  OF    THE   WEEK. 


At  the  same  time  he  glanced  down  at  himself,  and 
wonderingly  discovered  that  he  was  no  taller  than  his 
companion. 

The  Brownie  handed  him  the  little  spirit-lamp,  with 
a  wire  hook  on  it  for  a  handle,  and  together  they 
walked    through    the    wide-open    lips. 

By  degrees  Jack  began  to  perceive  that  they  had 
entered   an    immense   cave. 

Along  the  edges  of  the  cave,  above  and  below, 
glistened  enormous  white  boulders,  seamed  with  gold 
and  silver  ;  and  at  the  back  were  two  galleries  of 
arches,    sloping    somewhere. 

Swarms  of  dim  but  energetic  brownie  figures  scam- 
pered   and    climbed    here    and    there. 

Some  were  solemnly  riding  up  and  down  on  a 
huge  coral  affair  in  the  centre  of  the  cave  ;  but  most 
of  them  were  working  for  dear  life,  with  pickaxes, 
among    the    white    boulders. 

Jack  Roses  clapped  his  hands  delightedly  at  the 
hundreds  and  hundreds  of  shining  lamps  bobbing 
about. 


THE   CHILDREN  OF    THE   WEEK. 


While  he  was  enjoying  this  sight,  Foreman  whirled 
him    round,    and    pointed    in    an    opposite    direction. 

A  multitude  of  Brownie  miners,  having  loosened 
one  of  the  largest  boulders,  were  just  about  to  heave 
it    up. 

They  were  tugging  away  with  all  their  might  on 
a  mesh  of  gossamer  ropes,  which  they  had  wrought 
about    it. 

He  saw  them  brace  themselves  for  a  tremendous 
effort.  They  tugged,  and  pulled,  and  strained,  as  only 
Brownie    miners   can. 

It    seemed    to    Jack    as    if    they    were    hurting   Jiim. 

He    shouted    to    them    to    stop. 

The  boulder  swayed  backward  and  forward  as  the 
hundred    fine    ropes    tore    it    up    from    its    sockets. 

Foreman  cried  out  that  he  feared  it  would  fall 
and    crush    them. 

As  the  boulder  rose  slowly,  a  deafening  roar  of 
pain    burst    from    the    two    galleries    of    arches. 

Jack     Roses    opened     his    eyes,    and    found     himself, 

ioS 


THE  CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


half  laughing,  half  crying,  in  the  huge  plush  chair. 
His  mother  was  smiling  encouragement,  and  Dr. 
Brown    good-naturedly    handing    him    a   glass    of    water. 


•  J  IMPOST  JjQ 


VI. 


FRIDAY    morning    turned    out    to    be   wet   and   drizzling.      The 
seasonable    snow    melted    into    unseasonable    slush. 
"  Which    do    you    like    best,"     asked    the    Red    Indian,    "  snow, 
or    rain  ?  " 

Alexander  made  a  shrill   noise   that  was  intended  for  a  lauo-h. 

o 

"  That  makes  me  think,"  he  said,  "  of  the  game  of  '  London 
Bridge  is  falling  down."  Two  boys  catch  you  round  the  neck, 
you  know,  and  one  of  them  asks  you,  'Which  will  you  have, 
a  gold  crown,  or  a  diamond  necklace?'  And  if  you  should  say 
a  diamond  necklace,  then  the  diamond-necklace  boy  shouts,  '  Get 
behind    me  !      Get    behind    me  !  ' 

"  It's  awful  nice.  I  like  it  much  better  than  '  Sally  Waters  ' 
or  '  Green  Gravel.'  The  children  play  it  in  South  hirst  Street 
eveiy   summer." 

Alexander  was  thoughtfully  watchingf  the  little  elobes  of 
rain-water  jumping    on    the    window-glass    in    every    direction. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "  whenever  it  rains,  and  I  am 
thirst)-,  I  just  stick  my  tongue  out,  and  the  rain  unthirsties 
me.       But    how    about    Friday,    Mr.    Indian  ? " 

"  Friday,  too,  had  a  godmother,"  returned  the  Red  Indian. 
"  Her  godmother  was  Freya,  the  Anglo-Saxon  goddess  of  love 
and  beauty.  I  heard  her  tell  the  others  about  it,  and  then 
she    related    this    story." 


FRIDAY'S    STORY. 


"  Friday's   child   is  loving   and 
Hiving." 


HE   big  city  was   unusu- 
ally   glad    that     Christ- 
mas-eve.        Its     lamps 
winked    at    each    other, 
having  formed  the  res- 
olution  to    put   out   the 
cold  and  darkness  with 
their    light. 
The     town    became     a    paradise     of     cedar-trees     and 
holly.      The   sleigh-bells    jangled    merrily   the   whole  week 
long  ;    the    frozen    ponds    were    full    of   skating   boys    and 


THE   CHILDREN   OE    THE   WEEK. 


girls  ;  and,  presto  change  !  the  old  folks  turned  to  little 
children,  then,  if  at  no  other  time,  remembering  Him 
who    was    a    child    at    Bethlehem. 


jJfft"\     XPf 


Ah !  life  was  one  continual  round  of  cornucopias, 
peppermint    wralking-sticks,    and    candy    baskets. 

On    that    same    Christmas-eve,    not    far    off    from    the 

largest    toy-shop,    down    a    dark    alley,    up    four    flights 

of    rickety,    creaky    stairs,    in    a    miserably    naked     room, 

lay    a    ragged    girl    about    twelve    years    old,    and    a    boy 

baby   not   more   than    three,   both    on    a    dirty   mattress. 

114 


THE   CHILDREN  OF    THE   WEEK. 


There  was  a  table  in  the  room  ;  but  one  of  its 
legs  was  shorter  than  the  rest,  and  so  the  table  limped 
when    you    touched    it. 

There  was  also  a  window  whose  broken  pane  was 
stuffed  with  a  dowdy  bonnet,  and  a  dreary  fireplace 
in  which  there  was  a  rusty,  worn-out  shoe  and  a  part 
of    an    old    hoopskirt    lying    in    the    ashes. 


The  boy  baby  and  the  girl,  his  sister,  were  snug- 
gling up  to  each  other  on  the  mattress,  trying  to  keep 
warm  ;  but  the  tattered  comfortable  did  not  quite  cover 
their    little    cold    noses. 

Presently,  as  the  room  became  a  shade  darker,  the 
gold    in    the    square    piece    of    sky   which    they   stared    at 

"5 


THE   CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


through  the  window  turned  into  purple  behind  the 
tall    spire    of    the    church. 

"  Lyde, "  whispered  the  boy,  "  good -night  ;  I'm 
sleepy." 

He  put  his  hand  under  his  cheek,  turned  over,  and 
there  was  a  pause  that  was  so  unbroken  that  it  seemed 
to    ring. 

The    gray    shadows    stole    into    the    room. 

By  and  by  a  jolly  round  star  popped  out  in  the 
sky. 

Pretty   soon    Lyde   saw   another,   and    then    the    moon. 

It  was  as  light  now  as  if  they  were  going  to  have 
a    party ;    but    it    was    so    cold. 

The  panes  were  freezing  on  the  inside  ;  but  erelong 
a  white  cloud  swept  over  them,  hiding  the  stars  and 
the  moon,  yet  not  keeping  out  the  lovely  light  which 
came  rolling  like  a  river  of  crystal  motes  into  the 
room. 

"  My  head  feels  hot,"  said  Lyde  to  herself.  "If 
the    warm    would    only    go    into    my    fingers  ! " 

Here   she   cried   out   with  pleasure  at  the  transforma- 

116 


b-^_  — — - 


C-'C-ro/J.-pcTeas  - 


SHE    SAW   THE   STRANGEST-LOOKING    OLD    MAX    IMAGINABLE,    COMING    TOWARDS    HER.1 


THE   CHILDREN  OF    THE   WEEK. 


tion  taking  place  at  the  window.  The  panes  were 
turning  into  splendid  pictures  of  castles,  and  palm- 
trees,  and  falling  water,  and  forests  of  ferns,  and  fly- 
ing   birds. 

She  remembered  having  seen  them  in  the  winters 
before,    but    they    had    never    appeared    so    magnificent. 

She    whispered    to    herself,  — 

"  I  wish  I  could  look  at  these  always,  instead  of 
the  dust,  and  tops  of  the  houses,  and  the  clothes  hang- 
ing   up    to    dry." 

Meanwhile  the  sash  began  stretching  larger  in  quite 
a  crazy  way  ;  and  down  the  road,  underneath  the 
feathery,  silver  trees,  she  saw  the  strangest-looking  old 
man    imaginable,    coming    towards    her. 

His  clothes  were  trimmed  with  icicles,  like  fringe ; 
and  the  buttons  on  his  coat  were  sleigh-bells,  so  that, 
whenever    he    walked,    they    made    the    pleasantest    noise. 

"  Who  are  you  ? "  said  Lyde,  in  a  low,  frightened 
tone. 

The   old   gentleman   made  a  profound    bow,  and    took 

off    his    hat. 

ii9 


THE  CHILDREN  OF    THE   WEEK. 


He  had  no  sooner  done  this,  than  the  top  of  his 
bald  head  reminded  Lyde  of  a  skating-pond,  and  all 
the  little  hairs  seemed  as  if  they  were  sliding  up  and 
down,    and    cutting    fancy    figures    on    the    top. 

"  I  am  Jack  Frost,"  answered  the  old  gentleman, 
"  and    this    is    the    entrance    to    Frostland." 

"  I  should  enjoy  visiting  the  country  very  much," 
Lyde    remarked. 

"  You  could  not  have  chosen  a  more  favorable  op- 
portunity," replied  Mr.  J.  Frost  politely,  "as  Christmas- 
eve  is  the  only  night  in  the  year  when  a  mortal  is 
allowed    admittance. 

"  If  you  will  kindly  put  your  foot  on  that  remnant 
of  woodwork,  and  give  me  your  hand,  we  will  see 
what    can    be    done    for    you. 

"  There  :    thanks." 

"  What  a  wonderful  place  !  "  exclaimed  Lyde,  catch- 
ing her  breath,  although  it  seemed  the  most  natural 
thing  in  the  world  that  she  should  be  where  she 
was. 

"  Why,    what    nice    trees  !    they    are    made    of    silver," 


THE  CHILDREN  OF    THE   WEEK. 


she    said,     "  and     the  snow    on    them     looks  like    dia- 
monds." 

"  Oh,    yes  !  "    said  Mr.    J.    Frost  :    "  there's  no    ques- 
tion  about   it,  they're  diamonds   of  the  purest  water!' 


mm 


They  walked  on  rapidly,  and  the  girl  was  much 
amazed  to  find  that  Frostland  was  not  flat,  as  she 
had  supposed,  but  that  you  could  really  walk  on  its 
roads,    and    cross    its    bridges. 

Only  things  were  of  such  a  chilly,  silvery  color, 
that  it  hurt  her  eyes,  and  made  every  object  black, 
until    she    became    accustomed    to    the    glare. 


THE   CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


Mr.  J.  Frost  was  very  courteous.  He  never  tired 
of  showing  her  strange,  beautiful  sights,  and  took  the 
keenest    relish    in    surprising    her. 

At  length  they  came  to  a  large  gate,  made  entirely 
of    ice,    which    was    dazzling    to    behold. 

Mr.  J.  Frost  knocked  at  the  gate,  and  it  was 
opened  instantly  by  a  tall,  lank  man,  who  carried  a 
scythe,    and    was    dressed    in    rather    scanty    clothing. 

His  knees  were  withered  with  age  and  cold,  and 
Lyde's    heart    bled    to    look    at    them. 

Her  companion  addressed  him  as  "  Old  Father  T.," 
so    she    supposed    he    must    be    the    gardener. 

She  thought  it  too  bad  in  him  to  cut  down  with 
his  scythe  such  brilliant  grass,  as  every  blade  was 
crusted    with    hundreds    of    sparkling   jewels. 

Entering  the  gate,  they  crossed  over  through  a  grove 
of  white  trees,  and  mounted  a  pair  of  slippery  steps, 
down  which  she  would  surely  have  fallen,  if  good  Mr. 
Frost  had  not  held  her  up  by  his  cold  hand,  and  led 
her  into  a  large  hall,  where  ever  so  many  children, 
in    groups    of    seven,    were    busy    doing    up    packages, 


THE   CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


putting    them     in     baskets,    and    checking     them    off    in 
little    memorandum-books. 


"  These,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "  are  the  Day 
children.       They    belong    to    the    years    that    have    gone 

by." 

"  But  what  are  they  tying  up  in  the  bundles  ? " 
asked    Lyde. 

"  Those  are  all  the  things  that  have  happened," 
returned    Air.    J.    Frost. 

They  passed  through  the  midst  of  these  children, 
who   paid   no   attention   whatever   to   either  of    them,   but 


i=3 


THE   CHILDREN   OE    THE   WEEK. 


who  worked  on  soberly,  as  if  they  feared  they  would 
never    be    able    to    finish    what    they    had    undertaken. 

They  next  entered  another  hall,  filled  also  with 
troops  of  children  who  were  much  younger-looking,  and, 
Lyde    thought,    more    agreeable. 

They  were  playing  games  and  frolicking  with  one 
another. 

As  soon  as  Mr.  J.  Frost  and  Lyde  had  entered, 
they    were    greeted    with    a    cry    of   joy. 

"  See  here,  children,"  said  Mr.  J.  Frost,  "  I  have 
brought    you    a    little    mortal    girl    to    play    with." 

They  gathered  around  her,  and  eagerly  pressed  her 
to    tell    them    about    the    world    she    had    come    from. 

She  had  not  a  great  deal  to  tell  ;  and  she  gave 
such  a  doleful  account  of  what  she  knew,  that  they 
hurriedly  changed  the  subject,  and  one  of  them  pro- 
posed   a   game    of    "  Blindman's    Buff." 

"  These  are  the  Days  that  are  to  Be,"  whispered 
Mr.    J.    Frost. 

The  Days  that  were  to  Be  would  not  hear  of  Lyde's 
leaving    them   until    she   had    joined    the    game  :    so    they 


124 


THE   CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


all,   including    Mr.   J.    Frost,   fell    to   romping   as   hard   as 
ever   they   could. 

At  length  Lyde  said  she  was  tired  and  out  of 
breath,  although  she  plainly  saw  that  never  happened 
to    the    Days    that    were    to    Be. 


mamem 


'        i?L>*V^    ^.Si  i!     wML^  Tr/\   IK)   /* 


Her  new  friend  next  showed  her  still  another  room, 
and    this    was    the    most    fascinating    of    any. 

Hundreds  of  boys  and  girls  were  busy  making  toys, 
and  rushing  about  with  heaps  of  painted  Noah's  arks, 
and  red,  brown,  and  blue  Shems,  I  lams,  and  Japheths, 
besides  no  end  of  wax  and  china  dolls,  having  actually 
human  hair  on  their  heads,  which  might  be  put  up 
or   let    down    at    will. 


125 


THE  CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


But  the  ingenuity  and  wonder  of  the  other  toys 
could    not    be    here    enumerated. 

Lyde  stopped  spell-bound  in  front  of  one  of  these 
doll  masterpieces,  and,  without  uttering  a  word,  gazed 
for    at    least    five    blissful    minutes. 

The  doll  was  attired  like  a  fashionable  lady,  and 
wore  jewelry  which  was  large  in  proportion  to  its  size. 
Its  vermilion  lips  curled  haughtily,  and  its  yellow  ring- 
lets were   glued   to   its   forehead   with   gilt-paper   stars. 

"  If  I  was  the  person,"  Lyde  thought,  "  who  owned 
that    lady,    I    should    name    her    Roxana." 

"  These  toys  are  for  the  children  whom  Santa 
Claus  had  no  time  to  see  to  on  Christmas,"  said  Mr. 
J.    Frost. 

"  But,  dear  me  !  If  I  don't  hurry,  I'll  miss  my 
dinner." 

"  And  I  think  it's  time  for  me  to  be  getting  back," 
observed    Lyde. 

"  Since    you    must   tear    yourself    away,   then,"    replied 

the     old     gentleman,     "  allow     me     to     see    you     to     the 

door." 

126 


THE   CHILDREN  OF   THE  WEEK. 


He  turned  the  knob  ;  and,  as  they  were  going  out, 
they  met  one  of  the  Days  that  are  to  Be,  dressed  in 
a    new    suit    of    clothes. 

"  Hello,   there  !  "    shouted    Mr.  J.    Frost.     "  Show  this 


young  lady  to 
Frostland  ;  and, 
her  for  a  call  on 
"  But  Santa 
to  sleep,  and 
to  be  disturbed," 
that  is  to  Be. 
will     show     her 


the  entrance  of 
if  she  likes,  take 
Santa  Claus." 
Claus  has  gone 
does  not  wish 
said  the  Day 
"  However,  I 
his    house." 


"  Very  well,"  answered  Mr.  J.  Frost.  "  Good-by, 
Lyde,  and  a  Happy  New  Year  to  you  :  you  are  with 
the    First    Day    of    the    New    Year." 

As  Lyde  turned  to  thank  him,  the  door  slammed, 
and  she  found  he  had  disappeared  into  the  house  ; 
while  Happy  New  Year  took  hold  of  her  hand,  and  ran 
with    all    his    might. 

They  passed  Santa  Claus'  house,  which  was  in  the 
shape    of    a    big    bon-bon    box,    and    entirely    surrounded 


127 


THE   CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


by  Christmas-trees  ;  but  Happy  New  Year  was  in 
such  wild  haste,  that  he  refused  to  stop,  and  ran  on 
with  her,  until,  before  they  knew  it,  they  came  plump 
up  against  Father  T.,  who  was  opening  the  gate  for  a 
ragged,  forlorn  little  beggar,  laden  down  with  bundles. 
"  That,"  said  Father  T.  solemnly,  and  his  voice 
chimed  like  a  clock,  "  is  the  last  Day  of  the  Old  Year." 


Lyde's    head    began    to    swim,    and    she   forgot   every 


thing. 


When  she  looked  about  her,  she  was  in  the  old 
room,    and    it    was    daylight. 

But    it    was    not    the    old    room    exactly. 

Strange  to  relate,  there  was  a  fire  roaring  up  the 
chimney,    which    had    never    seen    such   a    fire    before. 


12s 


BY    HER    BAEY    BROTHER,   WHO    WAS    EATING    BREAD    AND    MILK    OUT   OF    A    CHINA 
MUG,    WAS    A    LADY    DRESSED    IN    SILK    AND    FURS." 


THE  CHILDREN  OF    THE   WEEK. 


On  the  table  by  the  window  there  was  a  white 
damask  cloth  laid  ;  but,  wonder  of  wonders,  by  her 
baby  brother,  who  was  eating  bread  and  milk  out  of  a 
china  muer,  was  a  ladv  dressed  in  silk  and  furs,  who 
had  so  gentle  a  pair  of  eyes,  that  Lyde  loved  her 
there    and    then. 

On  his  knees  at  the  hearth,  putting  wood  on  the 
fire,  was  a  darkey  boy,  whom  the  lady  called  "  Tickle ;  " 
while  a  doctor,  with  gold  spectacles  on  his  nose,  was 
leaning    over    her,    holding    a    watch. 

She  caught  sight  of  a  proud,  black  footman,  wear- 
ing cream-colored  smalls,  and  a  bottle-green  coat  mag- 
nificent with  silver  buttons,  who  was  entering  with  a 
basket    on    his    arm,    crammed    with    goodies. 

"  Denzie,"    said    the    lady,    "  open    the    basket." 

Denzie's  face  wore  a  look  of  condescending  pride 
when  the  lady  spoke ;  but  he  obeyed,  and  opened  the 
basket. 

"  I  never  should  dare  to  call  him  any  thing  but 
the  '  brown  gentleman,'  '  thought  Lyde.  Then  she 
closed    her    eyes,    and    her    head    began    to    swim. 

131 


THE  CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


She  had  a  feeling  of  being  taken  to  a  big  house, 
where  she  was  nursed  and  cared  for  by  the  lady  with 
gentle  eyes  ;  that  her  brother  had  wholesome  food  ;  and 
that    there    was    no    cold    there. 


At  length  she  was  able  to  be  bolstered  up  on 
soft  pillows,  and  to  look  at  books  with  pictures  in 
them.  Soon  she  was  strong  enough  to  walk  about 
some,   and    play. 

One  morning  the  lady  with  gentle  eyes — who,  by 
the  way,  had  never  told  her  how  she  came  to  find 
them    on    that    Christmas     morning  —  asked    her    to    go 


THE  CHILDREN  GF   THE   WEEK. 


into  the  parlor  and  meet  the  "  brown  gentleman,"  who 
had    brought    a    friend    to    see    her. 

And  when  she  ran  into  the  parlor,  what  was  the 
very  first  thing  she  saw,  but  the  "  brown  gentleman " 
holding  the  same  doll  Mr.  j.  Frost  had  shown  her, 
and  the  ear-rings  in  its  rosy  ears  quivering  with  de- 
light. 

Lyde,  too  happy  to  speak,  but  rapturous  with  grati- 
tude,   named    the    doll    Roxana   on    the    spot. 


p.Q.p 


133 


>Jhe;Ang&l*  and  -the-Pansies 


VII. 

IT  was  Saturday  morning.  Charlotte  Russe  passed 
the  window  on  her  way  to  work,  laughing  and 
nodding   gayly    at    her    small    friend. 

The    Red    Indian    turned    to    Alexander. 

"  I  hope,"  he  said,  "  I  do  not  weary  you  with  my 
narrative." 

"  Weary  me  ?  "  repeated  Alexander.  "  No,  sir ;  I 
could  never  tire  of  such  rare  and  strange  amuse- 
ments." 

"  As  for  Saturday's  conversation  and  story,"  con- 
tinued the  Red  Indian,  "  I  am  not  positive  at  this 
moment    whether    I    did    not    dream    it    myself. 

"  The  more  I  try  to  think,  the  more  bewildered  I 
grow. 

"  Perhaps  I  fell  asleep  in  the  gutter,  and  made 
up    a    story    of    my    own. 

"  At  least,  my  impression  is,  that  Saturday  said  he 
was    named    after    Saturn,    the    god    of    agriculture  ;    and 

I    think    that    this    was    his    story." 

'36 


THhe 


TES. 


SATURDAY'S   STORY. 

And  Saturday's  child  must  work  for  his 
liviiis." 

NCE  upon  a  time, —  I  am  go- 
ing to  begin  in  the  dear  old- 
fashioned  way, --a  long  while'  ago  (so  long  ago  that 
the  date  is  forgotten),  in  a  delightful  country  (which 
I  make  no  doubt  is  down  in  Cornell's  Geography), 
there  lived  a  little  maid  named  Liechen,  who  had  a 
tiny    brother    called    Paul. 

Now,  Liechen  was  an  unpleasant  girl,  and  nobody 
liked    her. 

She  plagued  and  tormented  every  one  she  knew, 
until  they  wished  she  was  in  the  bottom  of  the  Sea 
of  Kamtchatka,  or  the  Sea  of  Okhotsk,  or  some  other 
remote    place. 


THE   CHILDREN  OF    THE   WEEK. 


Even  Baby  Paul,  who  was  so  sweet  and  gentle 
that  the  robins  would  fly  down  and  eat  out  of  his 
puggy  hands,  and  the  gay  sunbeams  loved  to  play 
all    day    in    his    golden    locks,    and     kissed     him    every 


night  as  soon  as  their  papa  the  Sun  called  them 
home,  —  even  Baby  Paul  was  a  miserable  baby  when- 
ever   Liechen    undertook    to    entertain    him. 

Often    she    carried    him     upside    down,    smashed     his 
toys,    interrupted    his    naps,    made    him    scream,    pinched 


THE   CHILDREN  OF    THE   WEEK. 


him  on  the  sly,  or  prevented  him  from  comfortably 
swallowing    his    fist. 

But  Liechen  was  not  allowed  to  keep  her  brother 
very  long ;  for  sometimes  it  happens,  when  we  do  not 
value  the  blessings  we  possess,  they  are  taken  from 
us,    and    we    never    see    or    have    them    again. 

It  was  so  with  Liechen.  There  came  a  day  when 
Baby  Paul  no  longer  toddled  through  the  flowers  in 
search    of    robins    and    sunbeams. 

The  roses  in  the  round  cheek  turned  white  and 
pale  ;  the  fringed  lids  were  drawn  closely  over  his 
clear,  blue  eyes  ;  and  the  whole  house  was  so  still 
that  the  tall  Dutch  clock  in  the  passage  ticked  and 
ticked,    louder    than    it    ever    had    before. 

Then  they  put  Baby  Paul's  best  frock  on  him,  and 
laid  a  spotless  rose  on  his  bosom  ;  and  the  people  all 
wept,    while    the    good    minister    read    a    prayer. 

After  a  while  they  carried  Baby  Paul  away  with 
them,  Liechen  did  not  know  whither,  for  her  eyes 
were    blinded    with    hot    tears. 

She    ran     into    the    garden,    so     that     nobody    could 

139 


THE  CHILDREN  OF   THE  WEEK. 


see  her.  Hiding  her  face  in  the  cool  grass,  she 
thought  bitterly  of  all  the  unkind  things  she  had  said 
and    done    to    Baby    Paul. 

Oh,  if  she  could  unsay  them  and  undo  them  !  but 
now    it    was    too    late. 

The  wind  rustled  through  the  trees,  and  murmured, 
"Shame,    Liechen  !    shame  !  " 


'•ill  '■•'■'■  .-,:,;■.>' 

11,'ir'l/l 
'I   l;l 


"  Shame  !  "  rang  out  the  flowers,  bending  down 
their    heads. 

"  Shame !  "  sang  the  birds  from  their  nests  among 
the    blossoms. 

"  Shame  !  "  purred    white   Grimalkin,  strolling   toward 

the    gate,    and  curling    her    soft    tail. 

She    knew  they    all    disliked    her,    and    she    felt    that 

she    deserved    it. 

140 


'A    SNOW-WHITE    ANGEL   STOOL)    BEFORE    L1EUIEN'." 


THE  CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


She    was    wretched    and    unhappy. 

"  If  I  could  but  receive  a  message  from  my  baby 
brother !  "    exclaimed    the    child. 

Presently  she  heard  the  fluttering  of  wings  above 
her. 

She  looked  up,  and  beheld,  through  her  tears,  a 
dove    hovering    in    the    blue    sky. 

And  while  she  looked,  something  wonderful  hap- 
pened. 

The  dove  began  to  grow  larger  and  larger.  Its 
wings  spread  themselves  together,  and  made  dark  shad- 
ows in  the  path.  Its  plumage  turned  to  a  long, 
glittering  robe ;  and  its  head,  around  which  a  bright 
silver  light  was  glowing,  became  the  face  and  flow- 
ing   hair    of    a    kind,    beneficent    spirit. 

A    snow-white    angel    stood    before    Liechen. 

"  I  am  the  one,"  he  said,  "  who  carries  the  little 
children  up  to  Paradise.  I  can  give  you  news  of  Baby 
Paul.  Yesterday  morn  I  bore  him  through  yonder 
cloudless  sky.  He  is  now  with  the  others,  happy,  and 
near    the    Christ-child." 

143 


THE  CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


"  Will  I  ever  go  there  too  ? "  inquired  Liechen 
wonderingly. 

"  That  will  be  known  in  the  future,"  he  answered, 
smiling.      "  Come." 

The  kind  Angel  led  the  little  maid  by  the  hand, 
and  showed  her  a  mound  of  earth,  which  she  had  not 
discovered    until    then,    in    the    garden. 

"  See,  there  is  a  bed  of  weeds,"  said  the  Angel. 
"  Stoop    down    and    brush    them    aside." 

Liechen  did  as  she  had  been  commanded,  and  lo ! 
in  the  centre  of  the  bed  grew  a  purple  pansy,  the 
heart    of    which    was    gold. 

"  This  bed  of  weeds,"  continued  the  gentle  spirit, 
"  are  all  the  naughty  acts  you  have  committed  ;  the 
pansy  growing  solitary  there,  is  a  token  of  your  tears 
of  repentance.  No  one  can  enter  Paradise  until  their 
lives    are    as    sweet    and    holy    as    this    flower. 

"  Before  I  come  to  take  you  hence,  you  must  pull 
up  all  the  weeds  :  and  for  every  good  deed  that  you 
do,    a    pansy    will    spring    up ;    but    every    time    you    sin, 

a    weed    will    appear. 

144 


THE   CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


"  When  the  garden-plot  is  full  of  flowers,  I  will 
come    and    bear    you    hence." 

The  snow-white  Angel  spread  his  beautiful  wings, 
and    disappeared    in    the    deep    blue    of    the    sky. 

Then  the  little  girl  sat  clown  disconsolately  by  the 
side  of    her  garden-plot,   and    fell    to   bemoaning   her  lot. 

What   was   it    possible   for    her   to   do,  she   wondered. 

Surely  the  Angel  required  something  beyond  her 
strength,  very  heroic  and  noble.  Where  was  the  use, 
she    thought,    of    trying. 

She  looked  up,  and  perceived  a  ragged,  lantern-jawed 
beggar  leaning  against  the  gate,  gazing  at  her  with 
hungry   eyes. 

The  Angel's  visit  must  already  have  exerted  its 
influence   over   her. 

She  ran  towards  him,  and  helped  him  to  come  into 
the    pleasant   garden. 

Then,  entering  the  cottage,  she  returned,  holding  a 
bowl    of    foaming    milk    and    a    large    loaf    of    bread. 

And  while  the  weary  beggar  rested  in  the  grateful 
shade,  and   regaled    himself,   the   little   maid   talked   gayly 

145 


THE   CHILDREN   OE    THE   WEEK. 


to    him,   and    cheered    him,   so    that    he    remembered    the 
tones    of    her    voice    for    many    a    day. 

After  refreshing  himself,  the  beggar  rose  and  blessed 


^I'!l;;! "  ;"'  A  life ' 

,1,1*11,  ]j      .».,„,.,„..,  ; 

,  -VrH        "I  •       \ 


her,   and    bade    her    good-by,   leaving   a  glow   of    content- 
ment   in    Liechen's    heart. 

When    she    turned    again    to    the    bed    of    weeds,    she- 
saw    that    a    precious     pansy    had     bloomed     since    she 

had    been    there    last. 

i46 


THE  CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


But  I  am  afraid  that  it  would  make  a  long1  storv 
if  I  should  relate  how  often  Liechen  was  tempted  to 
give    way    to    sadness. 

From  time  to  time  she  would  catch  a  glimpse  of 
the  face  of  the  Angel,  and  that  would  give  her  cour- 
age   to    fulfil    her    task. 

She  was  not  the  same  child  that 
she  had  been  in  days  gone  by ;  the 
flowers  of  love,  and  pity,  and  compas- 
sion were  blooming  in  her  heart  as  well. 

One  morning  she  started  for  a  walk 
in    the    great    forest. 

She  was  very  fond  of  going  there 
alone.  It  made  her  feel  how  grand  the 
mighty  world  was,  and  how  vast  and 
merciful    the    God    who    made    it. 

Suddenly  she  stopped  and  knelt  down  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  path.  A  young  bird  had  fallen  from  its 
nest   and    broken    its    wing. 

Liechen  took  it  tenderly  in  her  arms,  and  carried 
it    home. 

147 


THE   CHILDREN  OF    THE   WEEK. 


There  she  watched  and  nursed  it,  until  finally  it 
almost    regained    its    strength. 

But  in  the  mean  time,  while  the  bird  became  well 
and  strong,  the  delicate  limbs  of  the  little  maiden  had 
lost  their  buoyancy,  and  a  languor  stole  over  her,  so 
that  for  many  hours  she  tossed  on  her  bed,  with  the 
sharp  pain  shooting"  across  her  brows,  and  a  burning 
thirst    tormenting    her    throat. 

At  last,  on  a  delicious  morning  in  spring,  she 
awoke  from  a  troubled  sleep,  and  heard  the  bird  pour- 
ing   forth    a    carol    of    gratitude    to    its    dear    mistress. 

As  it  ceased  singing,  she  beheld  the  Angel  stand- 
ing  beside    the    couch. 

He    took    her    hand. 

At  the  touch  of  this  divine  being,  the  fever  and 
the  weariness  vanished,  and  she  experienced  a  new 
life    of    health    and    joy. 

Once    more    the    Angel    said,    "  Come !  " 

And,   taking    her    hand,   he    led    her    into    the    garden. 

"  Look !  "    said    the    Angel,    pointing    to    the    mound. 

"  The    pansies    are    all    grown    now." 

148 


THE   CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


And,    looking,    she    saw    that    it    was    true. 

"  Am    I    ready    yet  ? "    whispered    Liechen. 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  kind  Angel,  folding  her  close, 
"  you  are  ready  to  dwell  with  Baby  Paul,  who  is 
waiting    near    the    Christ-child    in    Paradise." 


M9 


"JlNY^LjNK 


VII 


NEW  Year's  Day  and  Sunday  morning  both  to- 
gether ! 

Alexander  offered  to  shake  hands  with  the  Red 
Indian  in  congratulation,  but,  immediately  remember- 
ing that  the  Red  Indian  had  nothing  to  shake,  drew 
his    own    back    in    confusion    at    his    rudeness. 

The  Red  Indian  graciously  forgave  him,  and  started 
out    to    entertain    him    for    the    last    time. 

"  Sunday,"  said  the  Red  Indian,  "  asserted  that  she 
was    named    after    Sol,    the    sun.      Here    is    her    story." 


152 


TtettT  JTTFT . 


SUNDAY'S   STORY. 

"  But   the   child   that   is   born   on   the   sabbath    day 
Is   blithe,    and   bonnie,    and    good,    and    gay." 


^-BsJJ  HE  called  herself  "  Pittiley  Pet  Tinnellink." 
(j|^__  ||  She  must  have  meant,  "  Pretty  little  pet, 
H  im     Tiny    Link,"    for    this    is    what     her    good 

P^^^^^^     papa    called    her ;    only    at    first    she    could 
not    talk     plainly,    and    she    had    gone    on 
saying    it    in    her    own    childish    fashion    ever    since. 

When  it  began  to  be  near  Christmas,  Tiny  Link 
made  up  her  mind  to  write  a  few  lines  to  Santa 
Claus,  to  jog  his  memory,  and  suggest  what  to  bring  her. 

'53 


THE   CHILDREN  OF    THE   WEEK. 


She    printed    out,     with     great     care     and     pains,     on 


,    ■■  M      rMWk 


■PCTtr.J. 


half    a    sheet    of    foolscap,    a    list    of    the    presents,    and 
sealed    it    in    a    monstrous    blue   envelope. 

This    she    handed    to    the    gray    postman    the    next 

'54 


'  SHE  KNEW  IT  WAS  SANTA  CLAUS,   BECAUSE  HE  WAS   MUFFLING   HIS   HANDS   IN  HIS   SLEEVE, 
JUST  LIKE  THE  IMAGE  OF   HIM   ON  THE  TOP  BRANCH   OF  THE  CHRISTMAS-TREES." 


THE   CHILDREN   OF    THE   WEEK. 


morning,  and  requested  him  to  deliver  it  to  Santa 
Claus. 

The  gray  postman  laughed,  and  said  he  would  be 
proud  to  do  so.  He  even  put  it  in  his  upstair  pocket, 
so  as  not  to  get  it  mixed  with  his  other  letters  in 
the    post-bag. 

Then    she   waited   eagerly    for   an    answer. 

It  was  a  day  or  two  before  Christmas,  and  the 
weather   was    delightfully    cold    and    snappy. 

Tiny  Link  was  out  with  her  sleigh,  coasting  up 
and    down,    and    having    a   glorious    time. 

Just  as  she  was  crossing  the  street,  whom  should 
she  see  turn  the  corner,  and  come  towards  her,  but 
Santa    Claus    himself. 

She  knew  it  was  Santa  Claus,  because  he  was 
muffling  his  hands  in  his  sleeve,  just  like  the  image 
of    him    on    the    top    branch    of    the    Christmas-trees. 

Besides,  he  had  long,  yellowish -white  hair  and 
beard,  cheeks  as  beaming  and  red  as  a  Granny  Win- 
kle,   and    a    smile    that    made    one    warm,    and    pleasant, 

and   young. 

157 


THE  CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


Tiny  Link  ran  right  to  him,  and  held  up  her  face 
to    be    kissed. 

"  Please,  Mister  Santa  Claus,  you  did  not  answer 
my    letter,"    she    said,    gently    reproaching    him. 

The  old  gentleman  gave  a  little  jump,  but  pres- 
ently   smiled    one    of    his    beautiful    smiles. 

"No,"  he  replied;  "  er — I  have  —  er  — so  many 
letters   to    answer,   that    I    must   have   overlooked    yours." 

"  But  you  won't,"  said  Tiny  Link,  shaking  her  first 
finger  at  him,  "  forget  the  doll  with  coral  car-rings, 
will    you  ?  " 

"  Coral  ear-rings,  was  it  ? "  repeated  Santa  Claus 
reflectively. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  with  clasped  hands  and  plead- 
ing eyes  ;  "  and  a  marble  mantel-piece  for  the  doll's 
house,    with    a    red    tinsel    fire    in    the    grate." 

Santa  Claus  took  both  her  wee  hands  in  his  big 
cosey    ones,    and    asked    her    what    her    name    was. 

"  Pittiley    Pet   Tinnellink,"    she    returned    promptly. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Santa  Claus,  as  though  he  remem- 
bered  her   perfectly.      "  Well,    Miss  ,   ahem  !    I    wish 

i5s 


THE  CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


you  would  meet  me  here  at  this  corner  on  the  after- 
noon before  Christmas,  and  I  will  bring  the  things  to 
you." 

Pshaw !  he  was  gone  without  once  alluding  to  the 
mysterious  subject  of  chimneys,  and  she  had  at  least 
a  hundred  questions  on  the  tip  of  her  tongue  about 
which    she    wanted    to    be    put    right. 

She  waited  for  him  a  good  hour  on  the  afternoon 
before  Christmas.  At  last  she  spied  him  trotting  up 
the    street    laden    with    presents. 

She  was  so  frightened  when  he  came  up,  and  her 
heart  was  so  in  her  mouth,  that  she  summoned  just 
enough  voice  to  wish  him  the  "  compell-ments  of  the 
season." 

As  the  old  gentleman  stooped  down  to  good- 
naturedly  give  her  a  kiss,  he  filled  her  two  arms  with 
a    bundle    of    toys. 

Instantly  she  caught  sight,  through  a  chink  in  the 
brown  paper,  of  a  wax  ear  with  a  coral  ear-ring,  and 
a  blaze  of  red  tinsel  which  evidently  belonged  to  a 
marble    mantel-piece. 

■59 


THE   CHILDREN  OF   THE   WEEK. 


But  wasn't  it  funny !  Santa  Claus  made  a  dread- 
ful mistake.  For  that  very  Christmas-eve,  long  after 
the  last  mail  had  been  delivered,  there  was  the  gray 
postman  ringing  at  the  basement-door,  with  another 
doll  with  coral  ear-rings,  and  another  marble  mantel- 
piece   with    tinsel    fire    in    the    grate,    for   Tiny    Link. 


CONCLUSION 


THE  garrulous  Red  Indian  ceased  speaking.  He 
turned  his  face  back  against  the  penny,  as  if  it 
was    more    comfortable    that    way. 

Alexander  leaned  over  to  thank  him,  and  heard 
him    complain    of    his    having    a    bone    in    his    throat. 

The    Red    Indian    was    never   known   to   speak   again. 

That  night  Alexander's  mother  had  just  got  home 
from  meeting,  and  was  laying  aside  her  "  things," 
when    her    son    addressed    her. 

"  Mother,"  said  he,  "  on  what  day  of  the  week  was 
I    born  ? " 

"  Sunday,  sure,"  answered  his  mother  briskly,  pull- 
ing   the    bow    loose    in    her    bonnet-strings. 

Alexander  thought  it  over  for  some  time,  and  then 
repeated    softly    to    himself,  — 

"  '  The  child  that  is  born  on  the  sabbath  day 
Is  blithe,  and  bonnie,   and  good,  and  gay.'  ' 

"And  now  my  story's  done." 

1G1 


